ffi^lpp^ 

•™A  *  ^MtfS&jif 

r/*A 


. 


BOCK  ST-533 

PACfffC  A  r,  v 


LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT 


A  NOVEL 


ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

AUTHOR  Off 

"MB.  BARNES  OP  NEW  YORK,"  ETO. 
With  Illustrations  by  ARCHIE  QUNN  and  A.  W.  B.  LWMUI 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1805, 

by 
A.  C.   GUNTER. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

THE   FLIRTATION   IN    FLORIDA, 

PACK 

CHAPTER        I. — The  Florida  Special,  5 

"  II. — A  Social  Populist,  -  -25 

"  III.— -"Our  First  Day  Together."  -  48 
"  IV.-— Miss  Webster,  ...  62 
«  V.— "I  Have  Written  to  Yer  Gov- 

ernor,"         -        •        •        -77 
"  VI. — Flying  Northward,  89 

"  VII. — The  Imported  Animal,  -  -  94 
"  VIII. — The  Imported  Animal  Has  Bitten 

Me,       .....  107 

BOOK  II. 

THE   BARGAIN    IN    LONDON. 

CHAPTER     IX. — Little  Mirie  and  the  Marquis,     -  116 
"  X, — An  Eye-Opener  for  His  Lud.ship,   127 

2061864 


IV  CONTENTS. 

BOOK   III. 
THE   FRENZY    AT    NARRAGANSETT. 

PACK 

CHAPTER     XI. — "My  Young  Man!  "•        -         -  138 
"          XII.— It  Is  the  Bathing  Hour,  -       149 

"        XIII.—"  It   Does    Me   Good   to  See  a 

Swell's  Heart  Break!  "  -  -  160 
"  XIV. — Mirie,  the  Diplomate,  -  -  173 
"  XV.— Love  in  a  Briar  Patch,  -185 

"  XVI. — Newport  Visits  Narragansett,  -  204 
"  XVII — The  Quinine  Elopement,  -  -212 
"  XVIII. — The  Contessa  Di  Tesse  Ferrara,  22  ^ 
'«  XIX.— "  Abeiard— Have  a  Chocolate  ?'!  237 


The  Ladies  Juggernaut. 

BOOK  I. 

THE  FLIRTATION  IN  FLORIDA. 


(Being  portions  of  the  Diary  of  Miss  Evelyn  Valle 
JSulger.} 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   FLORIDA    SPECIAL. 

St.  Augustine,  February  2///$,  1894. 

IT  was  thought  best  by  papa  that  with  the  coming 
Lent  I  should  have  a  relaxation  from  the  wear  and 
tear  of  my  New  York  season — my  first  New  York 
season ! 

Too  many  balls  and  parties,  the  family  doctor  said. 

Too  few  balls  and  parties,  thought  I ;  for  to  a  girl 
who  is  squeezed  between  the  door  and  the  jamb  of  the 
New  York  smart  set,  there  is  more  wear  and  tear  on 
her  nervous  system  by  the  balls  and  parties  to  which  she 
is  not  invited,  than  by  those  to  which  she  is  bidden. 
Many  a  night  have  I  suffered  the  pangs  of  hideous  de- 
spair because  my  name  was  forgotten — I  will  not  say 


6  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

omitted — in  the  list  of  buds  invited  to  some  swell 
function  at  Sherry's  or  Delmonicos'.  Dancing  the 
german  with  the  worst  partner  in  the  room  would  not 
have  racked  me  a  tenth  as  much. 

Not  that  I  didn't  have  many  invitations;  no  young 
lady  who  is  supposed  to  be  an  heiress  to  vast  sums  of 
money  is  always  forgotten.  But  the  invitations  I  did  not 
receive  jarred  upon  me  a  great  deal  more  than  those 
I  did.  So  our  family  doctor  suggested  a  rest-cure  from 
the  struggles  of  metropolitan  society,  and  I  selected 
St.  Augustine,  preferring  Florida  to  a  religious  retreat, 
though  some  young  ladies  get  mightily  advertised  by 
this  means  in  our  daily  newspapers.  Papa,  with  his 
usual  kindness,  made  no  objection  to  pretty  long  mil- 
liners' bills  for  resting-costumes  made  of  summery 
gauzes  and  laces  and  semi-tropical  muslins. 

Consequently,  late  in  February,  I  found  myself  with 
my  French  maid  Elise,  warranted  Parisian  (a  young 
lady  whom  my  French  professor  says  has  destroyed 
my  grammar  but  improved  my  facility  in  the  language), 
on  the  'Florida  Special'  en  route  for  St.  Augustine, 
where  Mrs.  Armitage,  of  Chicago,  a  cousin  of  my 
mother,  has  volunteered  to  chaperon  me. 

Mrs.  Armitage  and  her  daughter  Mirabelle  are  al- 
ready at  the  Ponce  de  Leon.  My  suite  of  rooms  next 
to  hers  is  already  engaged ;  my  dinner  awaits  me  there 
to-morrow  evening.  I  think  this,  as  we  run  out  of  Jer- 
sey City  at  ten  in  the  morning  upon  the  great  South- 
ern express  train — the  aristocratic  train,  the  train  that 
costs  more  to  travel  on  per  mile  than  any  other  rail- 
road accommodation  in  the  United  States. 

As  usual  it  is  crowded  ;  and  my  application  not 
having  been  made  sufficiently  in  advance,  I  have  not 
been  able  to  obtain  a  state-room;  but  a  section  has 
been  secured  to  me  which  I  occupy  with  my  maid,  who 
utters,  in  French  volatile  vernacular,  her  dismay  at 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  7 

the  thought  of  climbing  to  the  upper  berth  for  our  one 
night  of  railway  travel.  Does  Elise  think  she  will  have 
the  lower  one?  Not  if  Evelyn  Valid  Bulge"e  understands 
her  own  comfort  and  convenience ! 

I  write  my  name  in  this  affected  French  style  because 
it  is  the  name  that  has  been  given  to  the  family  since 
we  arrived  in  New  York — not  by  my  father,  who  still 
sticks  to  his  old  one,  and  still  writes  it  plain  "Bulger," 
but  by  myself  and  my  aunt  Seraphia,  who  have  managed 
our  social  affairs  since  we  moved  to  the  Eastern  metrop- 
olis from  the  Western  one — Chicago.  It  is  this  awful 
name  that  I  cannot  get  away  from.  It  pursues  me 
everywhere.  As  we  run  out  of  Jersey  City  the  whole 
railroad  seems  lined  with  it;  at  every  station  it  stares 
me  in  the  face — "  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator!"  My 
father  appears  to  have  secured  the  whole  Pennsylvania 
railroad  for  the  exhibition  of  "Bulger's  Bile  Exter- 
minator! " 

Why  he  should  have  given  our  family  patronymic  to  his 
patent  medicine  I  do  not  know.  I  suppose  it  didn't 
matter  much  then — thirty  years  ago,  when  he  began 
business.  Nobody  seemed  to  think  much  of  it  in 
Chicago,  and  papa  has  his  ambitions  as  well  as  other 
people.  One  is  to  be  very  rich,  and  the  other  is  to 
make  "Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator"  the  most  cele- 
brated patent  medicine  in  the  world. 

The  manner  of  changing  our  name  was  curious.  On 
my  poor  dead  mother's  side  our  family  were  distant 
connections  of  the  Chouteau-Valle's,  the  great  French 
fur  trading  family  who  built  up  the  valley  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi in  early  days  and  settled  in  St.  Louis,  though 
my  own  ancestors  have  resided  in  Chicago  almost  since 
the  massacre  by  the  Indians.  Consequently  I  was  chris- 
tened Evelyn  Valle  Bulger.  But  as  Bulger  has  grown 
distasteful  to  my  aunt  Seraphia  and  myself  we  have 
changed  it  singe  our  removal  to  New  York,  giving  it, 


8  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

as  my  father  calls  it,  "a  French  twist,"  though  he  will 
not  permit  me  to  write  it  except  in  the  ordinary  vulgar 
way  "Bulger." 

This  style  of  spelling  he  always  sticks  to  and, 
in  his  frank  Western  manner,  jeers:  "  Evie,  when- 
ever you  want  a  new  dress  at  White  &  Howard's, 
say  'Bulger!'  When  a  new  bracelet  seems  to  hit  you  at 
Kirkpatrick's  or  Tiffany's,  say 'Bulger!'  It's  the  only 
way  to  get  'em."  Consequently  I  say  "Bulger  "  every 
time ;  but  it  destroys  my  dignity  as  a  young  lady. 

My  twelve-year  old  brother  Bob  has  lately  taken  to 
placing  his  setter  dog  on  his  hind  legs  crying :  ' '  Carlo,  if 
you  want  a  cookie,  say  Bulger!  "  Father  gave  him  five 
dollars  for  this  hideous  joke  the  other  day,  though  aunt 
Seraphia  whacked  Bob  for  it.  Aunt  Seraphia  is  un- 
married and  a  power  in  our  house.  She  is  father's 
sister,  and  owns  a  fourth  of  the  Bulger's  Exterminator. 

However,  the  gentlemen  who  aspire  to  my  good 
will,  always  address  me  as  Miss  Bulgee.  But  a  crea- 
ture, a  Western  business  man,  young  Jonas  Ripley,  of 
Ripley's  Polo-Pony  Liniment,  since  being  haughtily 
refused  my  hand,  I  am  informed,  speaks  of  me  as  "That 
Bulger  girl,"  though  when  he  was  an  aspirant  he  used 
to  call  me  effusively  "Miss  Evelyn  Valle  Bulge"e. " 

For  this  change  in  the  pronunciation  of  our  name, 
aunt  Seraphia  and  myself  have  authority.  Look  at 
the  Virginia  Taliaferros,  who  call  themselves  Tolivers ; 
the  English  Cholmondeleys,  who  are  styled  Chumleys! 
Is  not  Derby  pronounced  Darby,  and  McCleod, 
McCloud?  Why  shouldn't  Bulger  be  Bulgee  ? 

"Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator,"  placarded  on  fences, 
on  barns,  on  dead  walls  and  on  especially-erected  signs, 
follows  me  through  New  Jersey  and  pursues  me  across 
Maryland  into  Washington,  giving  me  a  bad  day  of  it. 

Fortunately  night  comes  on  and  hides  it  in  Virginia, 
and  I  would  have  a  pleasant  evening  with  a  yellow- 


THE     LADIES    JUGGERNAUT.  9 

covered  novel,  did  I  not  unfortunately  chance  to  turn 
over  the  book  and  on  the  last  page  see  a  poem  eulogiz- 
ing "Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator."  I  toss  the  volume 
aside  with  an  expression  of  disgust. 

"Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator  "  impregnates  the  very 
atmosphere.  It  is  impossible  to  escape  from  it.  Papa 
is  an  advertising  genius.  But  if  papa  didn't  advertise, 
many  more  people  would  die  of  the  liver  complaint, 
at  least  so  he  says,  and  I  shouldn't  have  so  many  new 
dresses.  We  must  let  the  pleasant  palliate  the  disa- 
greeable. 

With  this  idea  in  my  brain  I  permit  Elise  to  assist 
me  to  a  night  toilet,  and  betake  myself  to  a  six  by  three 
berth  and  the  broken  slumber  permitted  by  the  rail- 
road train  as  it  flies  across  North  Carolina. 

I  awake  next  morning  between  Charleston  and 
Savannah,  quite  well  pleased  with  myself  and  satisfied  to 
see  that  "Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator"  has  been  gener- 
ally replaced  along  the  railroad  tracks  by  piny  woods 
and  cypress  forests,  as  the  population  has  grown  sparse 
and  papa  is  a  judicious  advertiser. 

However,  it  is  an  honest  medicine,  stolen  from  an 
Indian  herb  doctor  in  the  far  West  by  papa.  It  has 
made  many  a  man  and  woman  happy;  it  has  given  a 
great  fortune  to  the  Bulgee  family,  and  as  such  I 
should  respect  it,  though  the  French  tastes  derived 
from  my  mother  have  made  me  not  entirely  of  a  com- 
mercial mind  and  character. 

My  figure,  I  am  happy  to  say,  is  a  Chouteau-Valle 
figure ;  my  feet  and  hands  are  aristocratic ;  my  admirers 
say  I  have  the  face  of  a  beauty,  my  dressmaker  hints 
that  I  have  the  figure  of  a — but  I  won't  repeat  my 
dressmaker's  remarks — she  is  usually  most  complimen- 
tary immediately  before  presenting  her  bill. 

Altogether  I  feel  at  peace  with  myself,  as  after  taking 
breakfast  in  the  dining  car  I  look  out  of  the  window 


IO  THE    LADIES    JUGGERNAUT. 

upon  the  piny  woods  and  cypress  swamps  that  are 
becoming  quite  the  dominating  features  of  the  land- 
scape as  we  approach  the  boundaries  of  Georgia ;  my 
traveling  dress  of  pale  blue  being  becoming  to  my  com- 
plexion and  fitting  me,  to  use  a  Western  expression, 
"to  a  contour." 

But  a  slight  contemplation  of  piny  woods  and 
cypress  swamps  satisfies  me.  I  take  the  novel  again, 
forgetting,  in  the  interest  of  the  story,  the  advertise- 
ment upon  its  back. 

After  a  little,  literature  palls  on  me.  The  day  is 
soft,  Southern  and  languid.  What  a  change  from 
snowy  and  icy  New  York !  My  tongue,  which  is  not 
usually  a  quiet  one,  is  tired  with  its  enforced  rest. 

I  look  carelessly  about  the  car — women,  noth- 
ing but  women.  With  the  exception  of  a  consump- 
tive gentleman  going  to  the  piny  woods  in  Georgia, 
and  our  fat  negro  porter,  who  is  getting  out  his  brushes 
to  dust  people  off  in  the  hope  of  fees,  in  approaching 
Savannah,  the  car  is  entirely  occupied  by  my  sex.  Will 
there  be  equal  dearth  of  masculine  attractions  at 
St.  Augustine? 

The  thought  makes  me  sigh.  Not  that  I  care 
particularly  for  gentlemen,  still  I  like  to  have 
them  about  me  in  quantities  to  suit.  Sometimes 
a  great  many ;  once  in  a  great  while — one.  But  that 
never  lasts  long  with  me.  The  one  gentleman  soon 
contrives  to  make  himself  unendurable.  People  hint  I 
am  hard  to  please ;  my  father  says  I  am  "  stuck  up,"  men 
declare  I  am  a  flirt,  women  suggest  I  am  a  jilt,  but  it 
isn't  true.  When  Mr.  Right  comes  I  know  I  have  a 
heart  and  a  soul  that  will  leap  up  in  me  as  high  as  it 
does  in  the  third  act  of  a  four-act  melodrama. 

But  I  shall  not  get  married  until  I  am  at  least 
twenty-five;  the  joys  of  girlhood  in  America  are  suffi- 
cient to  make  one  hesitate  about  changing  her  state, 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  u 

and  besides  I  couldn't  leave  papa.  If  I  did  he  might 
marry  again,  which  would  be  horrible,  for  he  is  the 
best,  dearest,  kindest  papa  the  world  has  ever  seen, 
though  he  won't  let  me  call  him  "papa" — says  it  is 
affected;  makes  me  call  him  "father"  and  compels  me 
to  have  my  cards  printed  "Bulger." 

As  I  am  thinking  this,  suddenly  there  is  a  flutter  in 
the  car,  every  female  in  it  attempts  to  assume  her 
most  striking  and  effective  pose ;  every  woman  is  try- 
ing to  say  something  brilliant;  the  lady  behind  me  has 
begun  to  speak  in  French  to  her  friend. 

What  has  caused  all  this  commotion  ? 

I  look  around  and  hastily  assume  my  best  attitude 
myself. 

A  god-like  youth  is  passing  through ! 

He  is  over  the  medium  height,  dressed  in  semi-tropical 
Mexican  or  South  American  style.  A  single  British  eye- 
glass gives  an  almost  ludicrous  effect  to  his  sombrero 
and  Spanish  appearance.  His  face  is,  however,  Saxon, 
and  has  strong  eyes  and  strong  mouth.  His  frame  is 
athletic ;  altogether  he  looks  as  if  he  might  be  a  little 
more  than  passable. 

He  is  followed  by  another  man,  this  one  unmistak- 
ably English,  side  chop  whiskers  and  flunkey  expres- 
sion. 

As  they  pass,  the  young  man  preceding  the  other 
turns,  and  says  with  rather  an  English  accent:  "  Mad- 
dox,  you  imbecile,  where  are  my  Havanas  ?  Go  to  my 
compartment,  bring  me  half  a  dozen  cigars.  I  am 
going  to  the  observation  car. " 

Maddox  is  the  servant,  what  is  the  name  of  the  master 
with  the  English  voice,  who  is  apparently  a  traveling 
man,  though  he  carries  a  valet  with  him  ? 

I  don't  know  how  I  have  discovered  this.  Of  course 
I  have  not  looked  at  him. 

Even  while  this  comes  into  my   mind  I  hear  the 


12  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

young  gentleman  speak  again.  He  says:  "Maddox, 
I  will  wait  here  for  you,"  and  takes  his  station  at  tne 
end  of  the  car,  a  point  of  view  particularly  well  suited 
to  photographing  me. 

Why  has  he  done  so  ?  To  look  at  me  ?  If  he  does 
look,  am  I  all  right  ?  Yes !  Even  in  this  railroad  cos- 
tume I  am  satisfactory.  My  foot  is  on  a  footstool  and 
prominent.  Shall  I  remove  it  ?  No,  it  is  a  Chouteau- 
Valle"  foot,  and  is  perfectly  booted. 

A  second  later,  not  to  be  outdone,  I  photograph  the 
youth  in  my  eye.  He  is  not  so  very  young — probably 
a  few  years  under  thirty.  He  wears  a  long  drooping 
mustache,  and  has  remarkable  eyes. 

A  minute  later  and  the  valet  makes  his  appearance 
with  the  cigars.  There  is  no  excuse  for  the  master 
remaining  longer.  He  strides  out  to  the  observation 
car;  I  think  reluctantly.  I  hope  so.  I  wish  the  valet 
had  not  been  in  such  a  hurry. 

I  pick  up  the  novel;  it  no  longer  interests  me.  I 
relapse  into  a  brown  study.  I  wish  I  had  somebody 
to  talk  to — some  man  to  talk  to.  I  could  easily  get  up 
a  conversation  with  any  of  these  ladies. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  bell  is  ringing — the 
conductor  has  called:  "Savannah!  Ten  minutes!  " 

I  have  been  in  the  car  twenty-four  hours;  a  little 
exercise  will  do  me  good.  Assisted  by  the  porter  I 
step  out,  catchy  little  straw  hat  on  head,  and  tropical, 
lacey  sunshade  in  my  hand. 

Elise  is  about  to  follow,  but  I  tell  her  to  remain,  and 
whisper  to  her:  "  Do  not  take  your  eye  off  my  gripsack 
an  instant!  "  Does  she  think  I  want  to  lose  my  dia- 
monds ? 

On  the  platform  most  of  the  passengers  are  strolling 
about.  The  day  is  sunny,  bright  and  inviting.  As  I 
walk  up  and  down  to  obtain  all  the  exercise  possible  in 
my  limited  time  I  pass  the  gentleman  who  had  created 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  13 

the  commotion  in  the  car.  He  is  speaking  to  his  valet. 
Chancing  to  hear  his  words  they  astonish  me. 
"Maddox,"  he  says,  "move  lively!  I  feel  it  coming 
on.  Get  me  twenty-one  grains  and  a  quarter  of 
quinine.  Fly  as  if  a  bush-ranger  were  after  you!" 

The  servitor  starts  for  the  car,  and  as  I  look  upon 
the  master  I  notice  that  though  certainly  not  over 
thirty  he  is  looking  extremely  languid,  more  so  than  the 
most  nonchalant  Englishman  I  ever  met,  and  his  face 
has  that  sallow  tint  peculiar  to  long  residence  in  hot 
and  pestilential  climates.  I  give  a  nervous  giggle  as  I 
suddenly  think:  "Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator  would 
probably  do  him  good." 

My  laugh  attracts  his  attention ;  he  gazes  at  me  and 
seems  to  brighten  up.  Does  he  guess  I  am  mentally 
prescribing  for  him  ?  Then  his  valet  comes  hurrying 
with  the  quinine  powder  in  a  glass  of  sherry,  which  this 
gentleman  tosses  off  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  he 
would  a  B.  and  S. 

Very  shortly  he  looks  brighter  and  more  energetic. 
His  eyes  lose  their  peculiar  languor  and  become  flash- 
ing and  irridescent.  They  seem  to  follow  me  about, 
not  in  any  bold  ungentlemanly  manner,  but  as  if  he 
had  put  his  eyes  on  a  picture  that  pleased  him  and 
didn't  care  about  taking  them  away  again. 

A  moment  after  I  pass  through  the  gateway  that 
leads  to  the  drive  to  the  town.  The  railway  station  is 
crowded  and  a  little  of  the  fresh  breeze  blowing  from 
the  Savannah  River  will  refresh  me.  As  I  wander 
along  the  road,  I  chance  to  look  back.  He  is  at  the 
gateway — he  is  coming  out,  also.  Is  it  because  he 
wants  to  keep  me  in  his  eye  ?  Feminine  curiosity 
induces  me  to  test  this. 

A  few  steps  further  is  a  grassy  cross-country  lane.  I 
will  turn  into  it  and  stroll  along  it.  Some  little  negro 
boys  playing  ball  with  oranges  give  me  the  excuse.  I 


14  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

turn  down  the  lane  and  in  fifty  yards  have  come  to 
the  blackamoor  urchins,  who  run  to  me  beseeching  me 
for  half-dimes  and  small  coin  in  the  free  and  easy  man- 
ner of  the  pickaninnies  of  our  Southern  States.  As  I 
distribute  my  silver  among  them  he  makes  his  appear- 
ance at  the  turn  in  the  lane,  and  is  apparently  delaying 
himself  lighting  a  cigar. 

Just  at  this  moment  there  is  a  clanging  bell,  a 
shrieking  whistle  and  the  rush  of  a  railway  train  from 
the  depot.  Good  heavens!  is  it  the  Florida  Special? 
Have  I  lost  it? 

Unheeding  my  dignity  I  fly  hurriedly  to  the  railway 
station,  passing  the  gentleman  of  the  quinine  powders, 
who  follows  me  nonchalantly  into  the  depot.  The 
train  is  two  hundred  yards  away  and  sprinting  for 
Jacksonville  like  a  quarter  horse. 

"Oh  merciful  goodness,  stop  it!  "  I  cry  out  in  the 
despair  of  the  left-behind.  It  is  not  loud  but  deep ;  it 
is  the  wail  of  the  woman  whose  gripsack,  trunks  and 
costumes,  everything  that  makes  traveling  life  endur- 
able, are  flying  from  her  as  fast  as  the  remorseless  loco- 
motive can  drag  them. 

At  this  moment  I  think  I  hear  behind  me:  "Blast 
these  American  railways!"  It  wasn't  "blast"  that  I 
heard,  but  I  write  it  "blast." 

With  this,  suddenly  into  my  mind  comes  the  Christian 
thought:  "He  who  made  me  lose  the  train  is  left 
behind  also."  This  brings  me  some  satisfaction; 
besides,  if  I  have  no  baggage  I  have  at  least  plenty  of 
money.  I  can  telegraph  Elise  and  Mrs.  Armitage. 

I  turn  to  one  of  several  negro  hackmen,  who,  seeing 
my  predicament,  have  set  up  shrieks,  offering  to  take 
me  to  the  various  hostelries  of  the  city,  and  m^.ie 
inquiries  as  to  the  best  hotel. 

While  doing  this  I  note  the  gentleman  who  has  been 
the  cause  of  my  mishap  saying  a  few  words  to  one  of 


THE    LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  15 

the  railway  porters.  A  minute  after  he  bolts  into  the 
railway  office  and,  before  I  have  finished  my  business 
arrangement  with  the  darky  hack-driver,  strides  out 
and  puts  himself  into  our  conversation  in  an  easy  and 
nonchalant  manner,  remarking:  "Beg  pardon,  you've 
missed  the  train,  I  believe?"  saluting  me  deferentially 
with  his  hat. 

"Yes,"  I  reply,  shortly  and  nervously,  and  am  about 
to  continue  my  negotiation  with  the  hack-driver  when 
he  of  the  quinine  powders  suddenly  electrifies  me  with 
these  words:  "If  you  will  permit  me,  I  think  I  can 
enable  you  to  rejoin  your  train." 

"Impossible!  It  has  gone  away;  it  has  taken  my 
baggage,"  I  gasp  irrelevantly. 

"I  say,  keep  up  your  pluck,  you'll  catch  your  train 
safe  enough,"  interjects  the  young  man  in  a  kind  of 
pat-me-on-the-back  air.  I  stare  at  him  haughtily,  as 
he  runs  on  easily:  "Those  beggars  in  there,  don't  yer 
know" — he  points  to  the  railroad  office — "tell  me  the 
special  will  probably  be  detained  at  the  Y  or  junction, 
three  mile*  from  here,  some  fifteen  minutes,  for  another 
train.  I  have  engaged  for  myself  an  engine  and  cab  to 
run  out  there.  Accept  my  hospitality  and  we'll  be  there 
certainly  before  the  Florida  Special  leaves.  Will  yer?  " 

"Accept  your  hospitality?"  gasp  I.  "Of  course! 
Thank  you — how  good  of  you." 

"  Don't  mention  it.  It  was  entirely  for  myself;  I 
am  left  also.  But  we  must  step  quick.  Here  are  our 
engine  and  car." 

As  he  says  this,  a  switch  locomotive  with  a  small 
caboose  attached  runs  up  beside  the  platform.  Giv- 
ing the  negro  hack  driver,  who  commences  to  cry  out 
in  his  illogical  way  at  the  injustice  with  which  he  has 
been  treated,  half  a  dollar,  I  permit  myself  to  be 
assisted  into  the  car  by  the  gentleman  who  has  saved 
me  from  an  unfortunate  adventure. 


1 6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

As  I  look  at  him  I  forgive  him  for  having  made  me 
lose  the  Special ;  as  he  gazes  at  me  something  tells 
me  that  he  forgives  himself  also. 

A  minute  after  with  feminine  logic  I  change  my  mind 
again.  If  he  had  planned  this  adventure  to  gain  my 
acquaintance  he  could  not  have  done  it  more  deftly. 
Is  it  possible  that  Miss  Evelyn  Valle  Bulgee  is  the  vic- 
tim of  an  audacious  attempt  to  make  her  acquaintance? 

A  second's  thought  disposes  of  this  in  the  negative. 
It  was  my  own  fault.  I  went  away  from  the  station  on 
my  own  accord.  Still  my  glance  is,  I  flatter  myself, 
coo!  and  haughty  enough  for  a  Lady  Vere  de  Vere,  as 
I  sit  in  the  caboose  car. 

Whether  it  is  my  manner  or  whether  it  is  English 
breeding  that  makes  introduction  imperative  between 
fellow  human  beings,  I  know  not;  but  he  of  the  quinine 
powder  sits  opposite  me  and  says  nothing. 

A  minute  after  I  would  like  to  speak  to  him ;  my 
tongue  has  been  so  very  quiet  all  day.  If  it  keeps 
stili  much  longer  it  will  be  paralyzed.  But  I  have 
missed  the  opportunity,  for  we  are  drawn  up  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Y  from  the  Florida  Special  and  are 
hurried  out  of  our  car,  which  must  return  to  Savannah. 

The  gentleman  jumps  off.  It  is  a  long  step  from 
the  high  caboose,  and  I  am  compelled  to  accept  his 
assistance  to  alight.  He  supports  me  in  my  flight  to 
earth — gracefully,  almost  nonchalantly — with  no  suspi- 
cion of  gallantry ;  but  his  touch  is  electrical — or  is  it 
the  quinine  powder  ? 

This  done,  I  say:  "You  must  permit  me  to  thank 
you, "and  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket-book  to  produce 
one  of  my  cards.  But  it  is  inscribed  '  'Bulger, "  and  '  'Bul- 
ger's Bile  Exterminator  "  on  a  great  sign  in  the  Y  is 
staring  me  in  the  face.  Therefore  I  suddenly  put  my 
pocket-book  back  without  producing  the  carte  d'adressc 
and  stammer — "  My — my  name  is  Bulge'e." 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  17 

On  seeing  me  replace  my  card,  the  young  man  whose 
eyes  have  lighted  up  and  whose  hand  has  been 
extended  for  the  same,  suddenly  becomes  surly,  lifts 
his  hat  in  a  dignified  manner,  assists  me  to  the  Florida 
Special,  puts  me  onboard,  ani  departs  for  his  own  car. 

I  am  sure  he  is  sulky,  and  I  dislike  sulky  men;  but  he 
thinks  me  ungrateful  and  I  detest  ingratitude.  I  must 
show  him  that  I  am  not  ungrateful. 

As  I  think  this,  our  train  gets  under  way  again,  for 
which  I  am  happy,  as  the  noise  prevents  most  of  the 
conversation  about  me  coming  to  my  ears,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  say  it  is  not  flattering.  I  overhear  a  strong- 
minded  lady,  Miss  Parkins,  I  believe  they  call  her,  an- 
nounce to  her  neighbor :  "Wasn't  it  disgraceful  ?  The 
whole  affair  was  evidently  arranged  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  only  young  man  on  the  train !  " 

To  this  her  neighbor  says  with  sneering  giggle :  "But 
Miss  Assurance  didn't  do  it.  He  has  gone  away!" 

I  will  show  them  that  I  have  made  his  acquaintance ! 
He  shall  sit  in  the  seat  beside  me  and  talk  to  me  as  if 
he  were  my — my  brother. 

How  to  do  this  gracefully  ?  A  minute's  thought — a 
bright  idea.  This  will  surely  bring  him  to  me;  then  I 
am  not  the  Miss  Evelyn  Bulger  of  old  if  I  do  not 
engross  Quinine  Powder's  attention  all  the  afternoon. 

I  hurriedly  take  my  writing  portfolio  and  scribble  as 
follows: 

"  DEAR  SIR: 

Though  I  do  not  know  your  name,  you  must  excuse 
my  writing  you  this  line.  I  insist  upon  bearing  my  half  of  the 
expense  of  the  train.  I  inclose  you  what  I  imagine  will  be  the 
proper  sum.  Yours  gratefully, 

EVELYN  VALLE  BULGEE." 

I  spell  Bulgee  as  it  is  pronounced,  leaving  out  the 
horrible  "r."  Into  this  little  note  I  put  a  two  hundred 
..dollar  bill.  The  train  probably  cost  him  twenty-five 
dollars.  He  must  come  to  me  to  return  the  balance, 
otherwise  he  is  a  thief. 


l8  THE    LADIES*    JUGGERNAUT. 

Folding  it  up  I  give  this  to  Elise,  whispering:  "You 
know  the  gentleman  that  brought  me  back  on  the 
Special  ? " 

''Yes,  miss,  the  gentleman  with  the  valet." 

"You  know  the  valet  ?  " 

"Yes,  miss;  his  name  is  Maddox.  He  helped  me 
guard  your  gripsack  during  your  absence.  We  were 
both  very  much  concerned  about  you  and  his  master. 
His  master's  name  is  Cranmere.  He  is,  I  believe,  a 
very  noble  English  gentleman  of  distinguished  family." 

Putting  a  stop  to  Elise's  explanations,  I  say  promptly: 
"Very  well ;  pass  into  the  next  car  and  give  this  to  the 
gentleman — not  the  valet." 

A  moment  later  Elise  has  departed  on  her  errand. 
Two  minutes  after  the  gentleman  stands  beside  me. 
His  face  is  very  red ;  he  seems  excited.  With  one  of 
my  sunshine  smiles,  I  make  room  for  him  to  sit  beside 
me. 

He  does  so! 

There  is  a  sniff  of  indignation  from  the  surrounding 
ladies.  The  more  indignant  they  are  the  better  I  am 
pleased.  But  I  haven't  time  to  think  of  this.  Mr. 
Cranmere  gets  to  business  at  once. 

He  says:  "I  have  already  told  you,  Miss  Bulge"e, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  permit  you  to  pay  me  for 
a  hospitality  you  accepted  as  my  guest.  Besides,  two 
hundred  dollars  would  be  enough  to  charter  an  extra 
from  here  to  Jacksonville." 

With  this  he  crushes  my  two  hundred  dollar  bill  into 
my  hand.  He  takes  some  time  to  do  it  ;  is  it  my 
awkardness  or  his  audacity  ?  I  love  audacious  men. 

"Will  you  accept  my  hospitality  without  introduc- 
tion ?"  he  remarks.  "  I  don't  know  a  soul  in  America. 
I  only  arrived  in  Charleston  last  night  from  the  West 
coast  of  Africa  by  a  tramp  steamer  which  is  to  be 
freighted  with  phosphates,  My  name  is  George  R.  M. 


THE     LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  19 

Cranmere,  once  of  England,  now  of   half   the  world, 
my  last  address  being  Bonny,  on  the  Gold  Coast." 

He  is  frankly  holding  out  his  hand ;  mine  goes  into  it 
as  I  return  :  "  My  name  is  Miss  Evelyn  Valle  Bulgee, 
of  No.  479^-  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York." 
.  "By  Jove  !  that's  very  nice  of  you.  Now  we're 
acquainted,"  he  laughs.  Such  a  hearty,  cheering, 
careless  laugh  that  I  laugh  with  him ;  and  the  laugh 
seems  to  make  us  more  intimate.  Our  conversation 
passes  from  the  forced  into  the  natural.  Mr.  Cran- 
mere  tells  me  easily  that  he  has  been  travelling  and 
away  from  England  for  a  long  time ;  that  his  last  two 
years  have  been  spent  in  the  swamps  of  the  Amazon 
and  on  the  Gold  Coast  of  Africa,  and  in  that  pestilen- 
tial region  he  has  acquired  the  quinine  habit.  "When 
I  left  Bonny  I  took  twenty-five  grains  at  a  dose.  Now 
I  have  succeeded  in  reducing  it  during  the  sea  voyage 
to*  twenty-one  and  a  quarter.  Twenty  grains  make  me 
normal,  the  one  and  one-fourth  grains  produce  the 
quinine  effect.  For  a  time  I  shall  gradually  reduce  it, 
then  drop  it.  But  I  couldn't  have  lived  without  it. 
What  I  take  would  intoxicate  an  ordinary  individual 
and  make  a  weak  person  sick,"  he  explains. 

"  How  many  times  a  day  do  you  take  it  ?  "  I  enquire. 

"Three  times.  Without  it  I  should  grow  as  languid 
as  a  guardsman  on  Piccadilly  and  as  used  up  as  an 
opium  dreamer  after  his  third  pipe." 

"You  look  vivacious  enough  now,"  I  laugh. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  ?  I  am  in  heaven."  This  is 
said  so  earnestly  that  I  take  it  to  myself  and  go  to 
blushing.  Noting  my  embarrassment  he  continues 
hastily:  "Wouldn't  you  call  this  heaven  after  African 
swamps  and  jungles?  I  say,  for  two  years,  until  to-day, 
I  haven't  seen  a  pretty  white  woman — black  beauties 
don't  count,  yer  know." 

"Oh,  if  that's  what  you  came  to  America  for,  you 


20  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

should  visit  New  York,"  I  remark,  and  turn  the  con- 
versation, which  I  think  is  becoming  personal,  to  Man- 
hattan society.  But  Mr.  Cranmere  has  not  been  there 
and  knows  nothing  about  it. 

"I  suppose  it's  very  much  the  same  as  our  smart 
set,"  he  says.  "I've  met  one  or  two  American  peer- 
esses over  there,"  he  points  towards  London.  "  They 
are  very  much  like  other  women,  I  think,  average  about 
the  same  as  English  peeresses,  don't  you  know." 

He  knows  American  peeresses!  "Ah,  you  are  in 
touch  with  English  society,"  I  remark. 

"  Oh,  no,  just  at  present  I  know  very  little  about  it. 
I  have  very  little  time  to  know  about  it.  Yer  see,  I 
am  trying  to  make  myself  a  business  man. " 

Just  here  with  a  great  white  flash  Bulger's  Bile 
Exterminator  flies  past  us. 

"I  thought  I  had  got  rid  of  that  thing,"  he  laughs, 
"though  it  had  followed  me  through  India  and  Ceylon; 
I  imagined  I  had  left  it  for  good  at  Cape  Town.  No 
Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator  in  Central  Africa  or  on  the 
Amazon.  But  here  in  civilization  again  behold  the 
ever  present  Bulger's."  Then  he  adds  laughingly, 
"I  say,  do  you  like  wagers  ?  " 

"When  I  win!" 

"Very  well,  let  us  make  a  bet,  just  for  curiosity.  I'll 
lay  you  even  I  guess  nearer  to  the  number  of  those 
Bulger  signs  we  shall  pass  between  Savannah  and  Jack- 
sonville than  you  do." 

For  a  second  I  am  covered  with  confusion ;  the  next 
I  give  a  suppressed  snicker.  I  am  sure  I  can  win.  I  know 
exactly  how  many  of  those  signs  we  will  encounter  be- 
tween Savannah  and  Jacksonville.  Only  a  week  ago  I 
heard  Mr.  Robb,  our  energetic  Southern  agent,  explain- 
ing to  papa  that  he  had  had  fifteen  of  them  erected  on 
this  very  railroad  to  catch  the  eyes  of  winter  tourists 
in  Florida.  Consequently  I  accept  the  wager. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  21 

"What  shall  it  be  ?  "  I  remark. 

"A  pair  of  gloves,"  he  says. 

"That's  satisfactory  to  me,  unless  you  wish  to  make 
it  a  dozen  pairs." 

"A  dozen  pairs!     My  size  is  eights." 

"Mine  is  five  and  three-quarters." 

"Very  well.  The  one  nearest  to  the  number  of  Bul- 
ger's Bile  Exterminators  wins."  With  this  he  marks 
upon  a  piece  of  paper  "twenty-seven." 

I,  after  a  minute's  pertinent  thought,  pencil  "fif- 
teen," remarking,  "We've  passed  two  already.  They 
count! " 

"Certainly;  they  are  included." 

Thereupon  we  go  to  looking  for  Bulger's  Bile  Exter- 
minators and  it  occupies  us  very  pleasantly ;  Mr.  Cran- 
mere  noting  two  in  the  piny  woods  and  I  catching  one 
at  the  Waycross  station,  and  another  placarded  upon 
the  side  of  a  pig-pen,  partly  erased  by  the  razor- 
backed hogs  rubbing  up  against  it.  As  we  near  Jack- 
sonville the  signs  become  more  numerous;  we  count 
seven;  as  we  run  into  the  station  a  large  one  faces 
us. 

He  says  "There  are  fourteen.  You  are  nearly 
right." 

"I  am  exactly  right,"  I  return,  and  point  to  another 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  track,  placed  there  by  the 
energetic  Robb  to  catch  the  eyes  of  passengers  looking 
from  the  other  windows  of  the  car. 

"Fifteen!  You  hit  the  precise  number,"  he  murmurs. 
"By  Jove!  that's  wonderful.  I  should  have  remem- 
bered that  Yankees  are  born  guessers.  I  say,  can  you 
wait  for  the  gloves  until  we  get  to  St.  Augustine?  " 

"Yes,'  I  reply,  "I'm  not  going  to  take  the  chance  of 
losing  the  train  again." 

So  we  pass  on  and  at  half  past  five  in  the  evening 
arrive  at  St.  Augustine. 


22  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

The  time  seems  to  have  passed  rapidly.  What  we 
have  talked  about  I  scarcely  remember,  save  that  it 
was  interesting.  What  he  has  said  to  me  I  hardly 
know;  only  it  wasn't  poetry  and  was  generally  common 
sense.  It  was  masculine,  that's  what  it  was  !  That's 
the  definition  for  it — masculine ! 

The  afternoon  seems  to  have  made  us  friends.  As 
our  car  stops  in  the  St.  Augustine  depot  Mr.  Cranmere 
remarks:  "You'll  permit  my  attending  to  your  lug- 
gage, Miss  Bulge"e  and  getting  a  hack  for  you.  I  am 
a  traveller." 

With  this  he  disappears;  leaving  me  thinking:  "A 
traveller!  What  kind  of  a  traveller?" 

A  few  words  from  Miss  Parkins  and  her  friend  in  the 
seat  behind  me  make  me  start:  "They  act,"  remarks 
that  spiteful  spinster,  "  so  that  I  expect  when  she  gets 
up  to  see  a  cascade  of  rice  fall  out  of  her  skirts!  " 

In  a  flash  I  am  up  and  at  the  door  of  the  car  to  pre- 
vent Mr.  Cranmere  doing  too  much  for  me ;  but  really 
to  find  Mrs.  Armitage  and  her  daughter  Mirabelle  and 
Mr.  Jonas  Compound  Ripley  waiting  for  me. 

My  greetings  with  my  chaperone  and  her  daughter 
over,  Mr.  Ripley  demands  my  attention.  This  young 
man  seeras  to  have  forgotten  that  I  refused  his  hand 
but  little  over  a  month  ago.  He  chirps  in  his  easy, 
Western  manner:  "I  saw  you  were  coming,  Evie,  by 
the  Chicago  papers,  and  thought  I  would  drop  down  to 
St.  Augustine  and  help  you  do  orange  groves." 

Good  Heavens  !  If  Mr.  Cranmere  hears  the  fa- 
miliar "Evie"  he  will  not  understand  that  I  have  known 
and  detested  Jonas  since  he  was  a  boy  of  Ijurteen. 
"Mr.  Ripley,"  I  reply,  white  with  anger,  "please 
remember  that  Evie  has  grown  into  Miss  Evelyn  Valle 
Bulgee  !  " 

Mr.  Cranmere  is  beside  us  now.  He  says:  "I've 
shipped  your  luggage  for  the  Ponce  de  Leon  and  have 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  23 

a  carriage ;  but  I  see  your  friends  are  here. "  This  last 
rather  disappointedly. 

For  answer  I  introduce  him  to  Mrs.  Armitage  and 
daughter,  the  matron  responding  with  a  hearty  Western 
greeting:  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir;"  Miss  Mirabelle 
with  an  affected,  "This  is  nice,  the  sparse  male  popu- 
lation of  the  Ponce  de  Leon  will  be  increased  by  one 
in  to-morrow's  census.  You'll  look  real  stagey  in  that 
rig  in  the  courtyard,  won't  you,  Mr.  Cranmere  ?  You'll 
match  the  palms."  With  this,  Mirabelle  who  is  seven- 
teen and  forward,  begins  to  use  her  eyes  upon  my 
escort  in  her  artless,  childish  way — gazing  at  him  as 
she  would  at  a  gumdrop. 

"By  Jove!"  ejaculates  Mr.  Cranmere  looking  at  the 
chit  with  evident  admiration;  for  Mirie  is  about  as 
pretty  and  petite  a  minx  as  nature  ever  turned  out  to 
make  ravages  upon  masculine  hearts.  Just  at  the 
border  line  of  young  ladyhood  and  childhood  she  plays 
both  roles  with  equal  facility,  and  sometimes  both 
within  the  minute.  At  present,  to  make  hasty  and 
easy  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Cranmere,  she  is  a  child, 
and  looks  it — but  such  a  lovely  one.  Her  golden  hair 
is  down  and  tumbled  and  floating  in  the  soft,  Southern 
breeze ;  her  blue  eyes  are  frankly  looking  into  his — 
ingenuous  blue  eyes  that  are  so  deep  one  never  sees 
beneath  their  surface.  She  is  scarce  five  feet  two 
inches  in  height,  but  her  figure  is  exquisitely 
developed.  Adorned  by  the  white,  semi-tropical  cos- 
tume she  wears,  something  made  by  a  modiste  of 
genius  to  give  her  a  half-childish,  half- womanly  appear- 
ance, she  looks  like  a  laughing  and  sometimes  naughty 
fairy. 

"By  Jove!"  iterates  Mr.  Cranmere,  "matching 
the  palms,  did  you  say?  That's  what  I've  been  doing 
for  the  past  two  years  3n  the  Congo,  Orinoco  and 
Amazon," 


24  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

"Ah-h!  Investigating  the  monkey  language?"  laughs 
Mirie.  "You  must  teach  me  how  to  talk  to  monkeys." 
Then  she  says  eagerly:  "You  haven't  brought  an  ape 
with  you,  have  you?" 

"No-a.     Why?" 

"Because  you  would  have  given  it  to  me,  wouldn't 
you?  I'd  like  an  ape  for  a  confidant.  Abelard,  here, 
is  the  only  thing  to  whom  I  dare  give  the  innermost 
recesses  of  my  soul. " 

And  she  pats  on  the  head  a  chocolate  colored  can- 
iche  that  runs  by  her  side,  one  of  the  kind  that  are 
clipped  by  dog  fanciers  into  lions  and  tigers  and  have 
fringes  put  upon  their  legs  like  savage  ornaments. 
But  this  one  has  been  clipped  with  more  than  diabolical 
ingenuity  until  he  has  been  given  a  pair  of  long  chop 
side  whiskers  and  a  face  that  is  almost  human.  The 
intensity  of  the  revelations  that  have  been  made  to  him 
by  his  young  mistress  are  apparently  such  that  the  dog 
has  a  pessimistic,  misanthropic  air  that  makes  his 
acute,  knowing  face,  with  its  carmine  nose  and  blood- 
red  eyes,  weird,  strange  and  uncanny. 

In  Abelard  I  recognize  an  old  horror  of  mine — like- 
wise in  Mirabelle,  for  Miss  Armitage,  though  I  have  not 
seen  her  for  a  year  or  two,  in  our  school-girl  days  was 
the  bete  noir  of  my  existence.  Notwithstanding  I  was  in 
an  upper  class  she  frequently  brought  misery  upon  me 
by  her  terrible  method  of  telling  half  truths,  a  species 
of  diplomacy  in  which,  in  her  childish  way,  I  believe 
she  could  have  equalled  old  Richelieu,  himself. 

While  I  reflect,  Mirie  goes  on  artlessly  chatting  with 
Mr.  Cranmere.  "You  think  me  quite  a  child,  don't 
you?  But  I'm  not.  I've  been  out  of  school  six  months 
and  discharged  my  last  governess  two  weeks  ago.  I 
always  notify  gentlemen  that  I'm  a  young  lady  now, 
for  fear  they  should  make  mistakes  and  think  me  a 
child.  You  know  it  would  be  very  embarrassing  if  you 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  25 

took  my  hand  and  talked  to  me  like  a  father,  wouldn't 
it?" 

At  this  Mr.  Cranmere  utters  an  astounded:  "Thanks 
— thanks  awfully!" 

Here  I  interrupt  the  conversation  by  saying:  "Mr. 
Ripley,  of  Chicago,  Mr.  Cranmere,  of  London." 

The  gentlemen  bow  to  each  other  as  I  add,  "Mr. 
Cranmere  hired  a  special  for  me  to  overtake  the 
Florida.  I  was  careless,  and  got  left  at  Savannah. " 

This  I  know  will  make  Jonas  hate  Cranmere.  It 
does!  It  also  makes  him  fear  him.  Foreigners  are 
dangerous  to  American  heiresses.  Had  Cranmere  been 
an  Englishman  of  title  I  think  Jonas  Ripley,  of  Polo- 
Pony  Liniment  fame,  would  have  fainted. 

Oh,  Heavens!  If  Quinine  Powders  should  be  a  mem- 
ber of  the  English  aristocracy !  Elise  said  he  was  of 
noble  birth ;  he  carries  a  valet. 

Pshaw!  If  I  think  of  titles  I  shall  grow  romantic 
and  shall  not  sleep — rank  is  so  very  poetic — and  I  have 
sat  up  half  the  night  scribbling  this.  What  will  my 
eyes  look  like  to-morrow  morning  ? 

Therefore  I  shall  simply  close  by  saying  that  I  got 
to  the  Ponce  de  Leon  and  dinner;  then  I  came  up 
here  to  my  private  parlor  to  rest  after  the  fatigue  of 
the  railway  and  began  writing  this. 

The  day  must  have  interested  me,  for  I  have  stuck 
to  it  with  the  vigor  of  a  magazinist  paid  by  the  column. 

If  ever  I  become  literary  I  shall  hire  a  stenographer. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    SOCIAL   POPULIST. 

St.  Augustine,  February  28th,  1894. 
HE  is   not  an   aristocrat!     This  I  discovered  this 
morning.     In  fact,  he  took  special  pains  to  show  me 
that  he  was  not 


a6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

It  came  about  this  way.  Breakfasting  in  my  parlor 
at  ten,  after  elaborate  preparation  I  placed  myself  en 
Evidence  on  the  veranda.  By  "  elaborate  preparation  "  I 
mean  toilet.  I  was  a  mass  of  fluffy  green,  tinged  with 
softest,  feathery  white  Valenciennes,  from  sunshade  to 
jupe.  The  whole  affair  was  light,  tropical  and  refresh- 
ing to  myself — and  to  others,  I  flatter  myself.  At  all 
events  it  had  an  effect.  As  I  walked  through  the  big 
rotunda  of  the  hotel,  five  of  the  six  gentlemen  who 
were  reading  their  newspapers  looked  up,  and  appar- 
ently forgot  New  York  dispatches.  The  sixth  didn't 
count;  he  was  blind  and  led  by  a  servant. 

On  one  of  the  side  verandas  overlooking  the  court- 
yard, Mrs.  Armitage  is  seated,  and  a  few  steps  from 
her,  her  daughter  seems  to  be  entertaining  with  eyes, 
gestures  and  childish  vivacity  a  gentleman  whose  back 
I  do  not  recognize.  My  chaperone,  when  I  approach, 
greets  me  enthusiastically  in  her  frank  Chicago  manner, 
exclaiming  that  I  look  like  a  mermaid. 

"  Oh  living  pictures,  mother!  "  cries  Miss  Mirabelle, 
turning  her  eyes  upon  me.  "  Evie  only  looks  like  a 
mermaid  in  evening  dress.  It  takes  nudity  for  a  sea 
nymph! " 

I  hear  a  suppressed  and  surprised  "  By  Jove!  "  from 
the  gentleman  and  am  covered  with  confusion. 

Good  Heavens!  it  is  Mr.  Cranmere.  I  determine 
that  he  shall  see  me  in  decollet/  and  know  the  little 
fiend  exaggerated. 

As  he  rises  and  offers  me  a  seat  with  the  compli- 
ments of  the  morning,  my  blushes  are  still  on  my 
cheeks  and  I  know  they  are  becoming.  As  I  gaze  at 
him,  Mr.  Cranmere  is  another  little  surprise.  Instead 
of  the  semi-Mexican  appearance  of  the  day  before,  he 
is  now  all  English,  and  his  single  eye-glass  looks 
natural.  A  light  duck  costume  cut  after  last  year's 
London  mode,  white  pith  helmet  and.  havelock  and 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  27 

tawny  alligator  boots  adorn  his  athletic  figure  and 
well  developed  feet.  He  is  as  typical  an  Englishman 
as  you  could  find  at  Government  House,  Bermuda,  or 
on  the  veranda  of  Shepard's  Hotel,  Cairo. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  entirely  recovered  from  the 
knocking  up  of  the  railroad  trip,"  he  says  easily,  in- 
specting me  I  think  rather  critically. 

"  Yes,  I  was  so  well  taken  care  of,"  I  remark,  which 
seems  to  please  him,  being  reminiscent  of  various  little 
attentions  with  which  he  had  honored  me  from 
Savannah  to  St.  Augustine. 

He  draws  his  chair  nearer  to  me,  which  is  conse- 
quently further  away  from  that  of  Miss  Mirabelle,  and 
causes  her  childish  eyes  to  gleam  vindictively  as  they 
fall  upon  me;  for  Miss  Mirabelle  is  seventeen. 

Sixteen  is  sweet,  with  languid  aspirations  curbed  by 
governess  and  boarding  school.  Seventeen  has  bud- 
ding social  ambitions  and  incipient  jealousies.  It  has 
not  yet  thrown  away  the  animalism  of  the  child  on 
attaining  the  passion  of  the  woman.  Mirabelle,  with 
her  pretty,  innocent,  frank  face,  laughing  eyes  and 
floating  locks,  is  at  present  a  kind  of  social  populist, 
f.  f.y  hates  every  girl  that  she  thinks  more  fortunate 
than  herself,  especially  in  the  matter  of  beaux. 

She  gives  me  another  childish  dig  as  Mr.  Cranmere 
sits  beside  me.  "Evie,"  she  remarks,  "Jonas  will 
be  so  disappointed.  He  has  gone  down  to  Bay  Street. 
-He  said  you  never  got  up  until  twelve  o'clock,  that 
lunch  was  your  breakfast;  but  that  he  had  the  whole 
afternoon  for  you,  and  he  hoped  you  would  not  be  very 
angry  with  him  for  going  away.  Some  men  on  a  yacht 
invited  him." 

"Nc,"  I  reply,  savagely,  "and  I  won't  be  angry 
with  him  if  he  stays  away. " 

This  remark  is  a  mistake,  it  shows  temper;  and  I 
have  none  in  regard  to  Mr.  Jonas  Ripley's  absence. 


a8  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Mr.  Cranmcre  looks  at  me  in  a  meditative  way  that  I 
don't  altogether  like.  What  will  he  think  me — Ripley's 
sweetheart? 

Undoubtedly,  for  the  frank  darling  upon  his  left  is 
now  purring:  "Oh  E vie,  don't  be  angry  with  Jonas. 
He  has  been  thinking  about  you  all  this  week.  Every 
day  he  has  said  to  mother:  '  I  wonder  if  Rosebud — he 
calls  you  Rosebud  now — will  not  come  down  to  St. 
Augustine  when  she  knows  I  am  here? '  " 

"  Mirie,"  says  her  mother,  in  her  quiet  Western  way, 
"stop  talking!" 

"Mamma,  you  know  that  is  what  Jonas  said  to  us 
the  other  night!" 

Mrs.  Armitage  does  not  contradict  this,  and  I  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  know  that  Jonas  is  very  likely  to  have 
said  something  of  the  kind.  Fearing  in  my  present 
rage  to  make  answer  to  dear  little  artless  Mirie,  I  rise 
and  languidly  draw  on  my  gloves. 

"You're  going  for  a  walk,  Miss  Bulgee? "  remarks 
Mr.  Cranmere — I  am  happy  to  say,  a  little  eagerly. 

"Yes,  in  the  Patio  and  out  on  the  Alameda. " 

"  Do  you  mind  my  escort?     We  will  buy  the  gloves." 

"Not  at  all,"  reply  I,  "I  always  collect  wagers 
promptly,"  and  would  go  down  the  steps  into  the 
garden,  but  Mirabelle's  voice  holds  me. 

"  Miss  Bulge'e  !  "  she  says.  "  How  curiously  you  pro- 
nounce the  name,  Mr.  Cranmere.  In  Chicago  we  call 
it  Bulger — with  an  accent  on  the  ger  !  " 

"Bulger!"  ejaculates  Mr.  Cranmere.  Though  he 
starts,  his  eye-glass  sticks  in  his  eye ;  a  certain  proof 
of  Piccadilly  breeding. 

"Certainly,  "Bulger,"  replies  Mirabelle.  "Don't 
you  know  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator?  Hasn't  that 
single  eye-glass  of  yours  been  afflicted  with  Bulger's 
Bile  Exterminator  yet?  You  must  be  blind." 

"Yes,  I'm   well  acquainted  with  it,"  answers  Mr. 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  i?9 

Cranmere  with  a  short  laugh;  "I  counted  fifteen  of 
them  between  Savannah  and  Jacksonville.  That's 
what  she  won  the  dozen  pairs  of  gloves  on." 

"  Did  she  ?  Then  I'll  bet  she  knew  just  the  number. 
She  knows  her  father's  advertising  schemes.  Don't 
you  pay!  Give  me  half  a  dozen  for  saving  you  the 
loss  of  a  dozen." 

This  covers  me,  despite  my  New  York  season,  with 
confusion.  He  will  think  me  a  robber. 

God  bless  him,  he  has  annihilated  the  child !  Mr. 
Cranmere  has  simply  remarked :  "I  shall  take  great 
pleasure  in  paying  my  wager  to  Miss  Bulgee.  She  is 
ample  authority  to  me  for  the  pronunciation  of  her  own 
surname." 

With  this  he  follows  me  down  the  stairs  and  a  min- 
ute after  is  at  my  side,  almost  whispering,  as  we  walk 
along:  "I  wouldn't  let  that  child  annoy  me."  (Oh, 
if  Mirabelle  had  heard  him.)  "In  our  country,  girls 
of  her  age  are  in  the  nursery.  You  are  not  angry  with 
me  on  account  of  her  ?  That  would  be  hard  lines." 

"  No,  I'm  not  angry,"  I  reply.  "Of  course,  I  sup- 
posed you  knew  my  name  was  spelled  '  B-u-1-g-e-r.'  " 

"  I  did,"  he  says.  "  I  saw  it  on  the  hotel  register. 
But  your  pronunciation  did  not  astonish  me  at  all.  It 
is  common  with  us  in  England.  My  cousins,  the 
Marjoribanks,  are  always  known  as  Marshbanks.  At 
Eton,  Algy  Cockburn,  whose  fag  I  was,  would  have 
flayed  me  alive  if  I  had  not  called  him  Coburn.  As  for 
the  Blounts,  we  always  call  them  Blunts,  and  it  would 
be  awfully  bad  form  to  say  Ponsonby  in  any  other  way 
than  Punsonby,  don't  yer  know  ?  " 

His  calling  up  old  English  names  has  brought  with 
it  his  full  English  accent.  He  is  now  running  along 
by  my  side  as  though  the  valley  of  the  Amazon  and 
the  Gold-coast  of  Africa  had  never  seen  him,  and  Uf 
had  always  walked  Piccadilly  and  Pall  Mall. 


30  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

This  puts  me  at  my  ease.  I  say  easily  in  the  lan- 
guage of  imported  English  farce:  "Good  business!  "  at 
which  he  looks  at  me  astonished  and  begins  to  laugh. 
This  incident  seems  to  hav<;  brought  us  a  little  closer. 

"So  you're  connected  with  the  celebrated  Bulger's 
Elixir?" 

"Yes,"  I  reply;  then  add  ambiguously,  "He  is  my 
father." 

"I  am  delighted  to  know  this,"  he  answers.  "Per- 
haps it  may  lead  to  business  between  us." 

"  Business  !  "  I  gasp.     "Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"Not  beyond  quinine,"  he  laughs.  "I  don't  want 
a  dose  of  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator,  though  I 
know  very  well  what  it  contains.  That's  part  of  my 
business.  I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  execute  a  com- 
mission with  your  father.  This  will  doubtless  explain,'' 
and  he  produces  and  hands  me  the  following  card : 


Mr.  George  R.  M.  B.  Cranmere, 


Representing  Pink,  White  &•  Co., 

WHOLESALE  DEALERS  37  Tower  Warehouses, 

m  DRUGS.  L»ndon. 


As  I  look  at  it  visions  of  the  English  gentry  and 
aristocracy  drift  from  me,  and  I  think:  "Why  should  a 
patent  medicine  girl  be  diffident  in  the  presence  of  a 
dealer  in  drugs  ? 

However,  I  resolve  not  to  despise  Cranmere 
because  he  is  in  trade.  As  I  look  at  him,  his 
face  is  very  pleasant,  his  eyes  honest,  and  alto- 
gether he  is  a  very  agreeable  companion  in  a  place 
where  men  are  like  oases  in  the  desert.  There  are  five 


THE    LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  31 

hundred  women  patrolling  the  courtyard  in  all  the 
glory  of  feminine  summer  toilets,  and  not  one  in  twenty 
of  them  has  masculine  escort.  What  wouldn't  every 
one  of  the  unattended  give  for  my  stalwart  beau,  even 
if  he  is  a  wholesale  druggist  ? 

A  moment  after  I  grow  rather  to  admire  the  fact ; 
for  he  is  a  -very  wholesale  druggist.  He  tells  me  that 
the  firm  by  which  he  is  employed  deals  only  in  drugs  in 
enormous  quantities.  They  sell  logwood  by  the  cargo, 
quinine  by  the  thousand  ounces,  cocaine  by  the  pound ; 
that  they  have  large  plantations  of  cinchona  trees  on 
the  island  of  Ceylon ;  that  they  have  now  control  over 
the  sarsaparilla  root  coming  down  the  Magdalena  and 
Orinoco  and  a  good  deal  of  the  Rio  Negro  product; 
that  they  have  a  contract  with  the  Peruvian  government 
and  special  license  for  handling  Peruvian  balsam. 

"By  the  by,"  he  adds,  "I  believe  Mr.  Ripley's  Polo- 
pony  Liniment  contains  a  good  deal  of  chloral-hydrate. 
I  must  see  him  about  it.  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator, 
you  know,  has  lots  of  quinine.  I  think  I  can  offer 
your  father  very  advantageous  terms  for  the  sulphate 
in  bulk." 

"  If  you  came  to  America  to  see  my  father  for  this," 
I  reply,  "you  had  better  have  gone  to  New  York." 

"Oh  no,"  he  laughs.  "I  am  here  on  account  of  the 
coca  plum.  If  its  seed  has  the  properties  as  reported 
of  the  genuine  Erythroxylon  coca,  I  shall  probably  be 
able  to  reduce  the  price  of  cocaine  fifty  per  cent,  in 
large  quantities — certainly  twenty-five.  I  came  here 
to  visit  Tampa  and  Southern  Florida  to  investigate  the 
matter." 

"Ah  !  you  area  thorough  business  man." 

"Oh,  just  as  much  as  you  Americans.  You  Yankees 
think  that  nobody  can  trade  but  yourselves.  You 
should  see  the  English  away  from  home.  Our  better 
classes  in  Regent  Street,  Belgravia  or  Kensington 


32  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

dawdle — but  put  them  in  the  tropics,  put  them  in  the 
colonies  !  Who  controls  the  world  ?  Why,  the  British 
merchant.  Do  you  know  that  our  firm  dominates 
nearly  all  of  certain  branches  of  the  drug  trade,  that 
we  can  give  you  a  quotation  for  quantities  that  a  New 
York  firm  would  hesitate  to  handle  ? " 

"  No,"  I  reply,  "  I  have  never  studied  the  drug  busi- 
ness. That  may  interest  papa."  But  here  I  suddenly 
break  out,  for  something  is  weighing  on  my  conscience : 
"  I  don't  wish  to  take  your  wager.  I  knew  that  fifteen 
was  the  exact  number  of  signs  between  Savannah  and 
Jacksonville.  I  heard  Mr.  Robb,  papa's  advertising 
agent,  state  it  only  a  week  ago.  Don't  !  "  For  he  is 
about  to  step  into  one  of  those  expensive  establish- 
ments that  come  down  from  New  York  for  two  or  three 
months  each  year  to  raise  prices  in  Florida.  "  Don't!" 

"  But  I  insist,"  he  says,  "more  since  you  have  made 
the  confession.  A  wager  is  a  wager." 

"  DON'T  !  "  I  cry,  "  I  won't  take  them  !  I  brought 
three  dozen  pairs  with  me  of  all  lengths,  sizes  and 
descriptions.  I  have  twenty  buttons,  I  have  seamless 
ones,  I  have  riding  gloves,  I  have  all  kinds.  I'll  com- 
promise." He  looks  as  if  he  would  hold  me  to  my  bet. 
"  I'll  do  anything  if  you  won't  make  me  feel  like  a 
robber,"  I  mutter  poutingly. 

"Will  you?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Done  !  "  Then  he  laughs,  "It  is  apparently  you 
who  have  lost,  not  I.  Come  !  " 

"Where?" 

"  Into  this  shoe  shop  !  " 

"For  what?" 

"To  take  your  bet.  You've  been  walking  about  in 
slippers  on  damp  asphalt  laid  over  a  mangrove  swamp. 
British  walking  boots  are  the  things  for  you.  They 
won't  cost  as  much  as  a  dozen  pairs  of  gleves.  The 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  33 

difference  in  price  will  soothe  your  conscience.  You 
agreed  to  it — come!  So  I  can  feel  I'm  not  exactly  a 
murderer  if  I  ask  you  to  take  a  walk  on  Bay  Street  or  a 
constitutional  by  the  banks  of  the  San  Sebastian." 

The  idea  of  a  stroll  with  him  is  not  altogether  un- 
pleasant to  me.  His  manner  has  that  easy  confidence 
of  being  dead  right  peculiar  to  the  Britisher.  ' '  Come  ! " 
he  urges. 

Half  angry,  half  amused,  half  reluctant,  half  willing, 
I  find  myself  walked  into  the  shoe  store. 

"Now,"  he  says  to  the  attendant,  "I  wish  the  best 
pair  of  English  walking  boots,  lady's,  thick  soles  and 
low  heels.  Something  for  swamp  work." 

The  saleswoman  asks  me  my  number.  "Twos," 
I  reply,  feeling  that  I  am  now  in  for  English  walking 
boots  whether  I  want  them  or  not. 

"Twos?  By  Jove!  The  average  of  the  ladies  of 
my  family  is  away  above  that,  don't  yer  know?  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  seen  my — "  I 
pause  here  and  blush.  What  am  I  saying  ? 

"Your  foot?"  he  whispers.  "Yes.  It's  the  pret- 
tiest in  the  world.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  English 
walking  boots  can't  disfigure  it."  Then  he  turns  away, 
leaving  me  in  the  hands  of  the  saleswoman.  In  her 
clutches  my  delicate  green,  match-my-gown  slippers 
are  taken  from  me  and  replaced  by  yellow,  alligator- 
leather,  double-soled,  football-appearing  English  walk- 
ing boots. 

There  is  only  one  thing  that  reconciles  me  to 
this.  Mr.  Jonas  Ripley  returning  from  Bay  Street 
chances  to  pass,  and  seeing  us  in  the  store  and  Mr. 
Cranmere  paying  for  my  boots,  grows  green  as  my 
cast-off  slippers  with  rage  and  fury. 

He  must  not  think  what  he  will  think  ! 

I  hobble  after  him  and  cry:  "  Mr. — Mr.  Ripley,  see 
what  I've  won  from  Mr.  Cranmere." 


34  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"A  pair  of  boots?"  gasps  Jonas,  turning  round. 

"Yes,  I  bet  him  a  pair  of  boots  and  won  on  Bulger's 
Bile  Exterminator." 

"Well,  he's  given  you  the  worth  of  your  money," 
answers  Jonas  grimly,  and  passes  on,  though  I  can  see 
him  in  rage  kick  a  drygoods  box  that  stands  on  the 
sidewalk  as  he  goes  away. 

This  unfortunately  is  true.  I  do  have  the  worth  of 
my  money.  Fairylike  to  my  feet,  my  lower  extremi- 
ties seem  weighted  with  lead.  The  boots  and  costume 
are  in  hideous  contrast. 

As  we  return  to  the  hotel  the  snickers  of  one  or  two 
women  so  enrage  me  that  I  could  kick  Cranmere  with 
one  of  my  newly-purchased  boots.  If  I  did  it  would 
hurt  him. 

"I  say,"  he  says,  easily,  "now  you  feel  quite 
comfortable.  These  are  the  things  to  walk  in,  don't 
yer  know — useful!" 

"You  don't  like  the  ornamental?"  I  pout. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  says;  "these  will  do  for  balls  and 
fandangoes,"  he  waves  the  package  containing  my  dis- 
carded slippers,  "but  not  for  tramping  over  damp 
ground.  Besides,  they're  so  comfortable,  you  know." 

"Comfortable  ?  If  walking  with  weights  on  my  feet 
is  comfortable,"  I  think.  But  I  will  not  destroy  his 
pleasure  in  having  given  me  a  present,  he  looks  so 
happy  over  it.  Therefore  I  contrive  to  keep  up  with 
his  long,  slashing  strides  but  undoubtedly  look  weary. 

Noting  this  he  suggests:  "Shall  we  sit  down  in  the 
garden  of  the  Alcazar?  " 

"No,  I — I  think  I  can  get  as  far  as  the  hotel,"  I 
panx.  "We'll  struggle  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Ponce 
de  Leon.  Besides,  the  band  is  beginning  to  play." 

A  minute  after  I  drag  my  weary  boots  into  the  beau- 
tiful courtyard  of  the  Ponce  de  Leon.  This  looks  as 
\\.  always  does  on  a  fine  day,  a  mixture  of  poetry  and 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  35 

enchantment.  Poetry  from  the  tropic  sky  and  feathery 
foliage  and  brilliant  flowers  ;  enchantment  from  the 
magic  wand  of  commercial  wealth  that  has  touched  the 
mangrove  swamp  and  made  it  into  a  fairyland. 

Beautiful  women  are  flitting  about  in  light  summer 
toilets  ;  a  few  men  give  dignity  to  the  scene  ;  darky 
footmen  with  jetty  heads,  red  coats  slashed  with  black, 
knee-breeches — and  yellow  stockinged  legs,  stalk  like 
gigantic  wasps  amid  the  trees.  One  of  these,  deft  by 
experience,  sees  fatigue  in  my  eye  and  tete-a-tete  in 
Mr.  Cranmere's,  and  promptly  places  two  chairs  under 
a  secluded  palm  tree. 

Into  one  of  these  I  sink,  withdrawing  hurriedly,  but 
carefully,  my  present  from  observing  eyes.  Mr.  Cran- 
mere  sinks  down  beside  me.  He  is  apparently  fatigued 
too  ;  his  face  has  become  languid  as  it  was  yesterday 
at  noon. 

"You  are  ill?"  I  say. 

"Oh  no,  only  the  quinine  hour  approaches.  I  feel 
the  want  of  the  drug.  Where's  that  beast  Maddox  ? " 

This  is  answered  by  the  beast  Maddox  in  person ; 
that  British  servitor  now  gets  to  us,  in  his  hand  a  glass 
of  sherry  and  a  quinine  powder.  He  says  :  "I  have 
been  waiting  for  you,  it's  hover  your  time.  I  came  hover 
from  the  San  Marco,  but  could  not  hobserve  you 
hinstantly." 

"Lucky  you  turned  up;  otherwise  I  should  have 
become  so  languid  that  probably  Miss  Bulgee  would 
have  given  me  my  conge.  As  it  is — quick  ! "  My 
escort  tosses  off  the  quinine  powder  in  his  glass  of 
sherry  and  very  shortly  becomes  brighter. 

"You're  not  living  at  the  Ponce  de  Leon?"  I  say 
surprised,  as  the  valet  carries  away  the  goblet. 

"No,  it  was  so  crowded  it  was  impossible  to  give  me 
a  room.  Consequently  I  had  myself  driven  over  to  the 
San  Marco.  There  I  was  lucky  enough  to  find  a  sofa 


36  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

in  the  parlor,  and  Maddox  threatens  to  give  me  notice 
because  he's  only  got  the  soft  side  of  a  plank  in  the 
hall." 

"You  didn't  expect  to  stay  in  St.  Augustine?"  I 
inquire. 

"No.  Hadn't  an  idea  about  it  twenty-four  hours 
ago." 

This  puts  me  into  a  quiet  meditation.  What  could 
have  made  him  stay  in  St.  Augustine  ?  Vanity  answers, 
myself  !  But  even  as  this  flashes  through  my  mind  he 
dashes  the  cup  of  self-adulation  from  my  lips  by 
remarking:  "Don't  yer  know,  I  think  I  can  do  a 
little  business  with  Mr.  Ripley,  the  Polo-pony  Lini- 
ment chap.  I  shall  nail  him  this  afternoon  for  an 
order  on  chloral. " 

"You'll  have  to  take  two  quinine  powders,"  I  laugh, 
"to  nail  Mr.  Ripley  on  any  business  transaction.  He's 
a  trader." 

"That's  the  reason  I  shall  nail  him.  If  Mr.  Ripley 
can  save  dollars  he  is  the  man  to  do  it,  and  a  commis- 
sion is  a  commission.  You  see,"  he  adds,  "ever  since 
I  sowed  my  wild  oats  in  the  army  I've  been  infernally 
hard  up.  It's  much  easier  running  into  debt  than  get- 
ting out  of  it,  don't  yer  know  ? " 

"  You  were  in  the  army  ? "  I  say. 

"  Yes,  cornet  in  the  Royal  Horse  Guards.  You 
can  soon  get  into  debt  there,"  he  adds,  ruefully. 
This  confession  brings  rapture  to  my  soul.  No  one  but 
aristocrats  get  commissions  in  the  Household  Cavalry, 
and  once  a  swell,  always  a  swell ! 

"Since  then,"  he  continues,  "I  have  knocked  about 
a  good  deal — India  for  awhile,  the  Amazon  and 
Orinoco;  a  little  of  Peru;  travelling  man  for  Pink, 
White  &  Co.  Not  so  bad,  don't  yer  know  ?  See  the 
world  and  all  that,  I  can  tell  you.  Awfully  jolly  country 
America. " 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  37 

"Jollier  than  India?" 

"Jollier  than  any  place  in  the  world.  In  what  half 
acre  of  ground  could  you  see  five  hundred  women  like 
these  ?  Catchy,  chic  and  gowned  like  Queens  of  Sheba. 
India  has  its  temples,  ghauts,  pagodas,  and  all  that, 
don't  you  understand;  but  America  is  the  only  country 
where  I  could  have  come  to  know  you  without  an  intro- 
duction. Therefore,  America  is  the  jolliest  I  have 
ever  seen." 

"  If  you  speak  of  introduction  in  that  way,"  I  answer, 
biting  my  lip ;  he  may  think  he  has  made  my  acquaint- 
ance too  easily — "  I  may  go  back  to  the  forms  of  polite 
society  and  cease  to  know  you. " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  I  say!  "  he  cries  out  ruefully,  then 
whispers,  "You  don't  mean  that.  I  haven't  a  friend  in 
America  to  introduce  me.  Don't  make  me  go  back  to 
the  loneliness  of  yesterday,  when  I  didn't  think  I  had 
a  friend  within  four  thousand  miles  of  me,  and  hadn't 
had  a  letter  from  home  in  over  a  year.  I  suppose 
there's  mail  waiting  for  me  in  two  or  three  ports,  but  it 
never  reached  me — when  I've  been  so  lonely  on  the 
Orinoco,  Amazon  and  Congo — don't  make  me  still 
feel  that  I'm  a  stranger — to  you" 

His  tone  though  English  is  impressive  and  pleading. 
The  music  of  the  band  on  the  Loggia  comes  floating 
to  my  ear — some  of  Verdi's  impassioned  strains. 
Aida,"  I  think  it  is — no,  I  don't  know.  All  I  know 
is  there  is  passion  in  the  music  that  enters  my  soul  and 
makes  me  feel  tenderly  for  this  poor,  wandering 
Britisher.  I  say  concisely  but  effectively:  "Isha'n't!" 

His  eyes  meet  mine  ;  they  are  frank,  honest,  blue 
Saxon  eyes,  notwithstanding  his  skin  is  burned  brown 
by  tropic  sun.  "God  bless  you!"  he  mutters;  then 
goes  on:  "I  believe  travel  has  knocked  a  good  deal  of 
my  British  sangfroid  out  of  me.  But_>w/,  don't  yer  know 

"  he  turns  his  face  toward  mine.     Has  the  music 

got  into  his  soul  too,  or  is  it  the  quinine  powder  ? 


38  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

If  it  has,  it  gets  no  further,  for  a  voice  at  my  elbow 
says:  "  Ah  there,  Cinderella!  " 

It  is  charming  little  Mirabelle.  She  continues,  art- 
lessly: "  I  thought  I'd  come  over  and  see  your  English 
walking  glass-slippers,  Cousin  Evie.  Jonas  calls  them 
stogies, " 

Mr.  Ripley  has  evidently  informed  her  of  my  present, 
and  in  no  complimentary  way.  In  a  flash  I  withdraw 
the  "stogies"  from  sight,  but  Mirabelle  laughs  to  Mr. 
Cranmere,  clapping  her  hands  in  her  child-of-nature 
way:  "I've  seen  'em  !  Yes,  I  think  half  that  bet 
would  be  big  enough  for  me.  Jonas  has  told  the  story 
to  one  of  the  newspaper  men,  it  was  so  good.  Evie,  if 
you  don't  look  out  you'll  appear  in  print  as  having 
hoofs!" 

"Good  heavens  !"  I  falter. 

"Not  cloven  ones,  like  some  young  lady's,"  jeers  Mr. 
Cranmere,  with  insinuation. 

But  this  does  not  sooth  my  wounded  feelings;  those 
boots  go  out  of  my  window  as  soon  as  I  get  upstairs. 
I  turn  upon  Mirabelle  and  say  savagely:  "Don't  dare 
to  speak  of  newspapers  to  me  !  I  hoped  I  had  escaped 
them  when  I  came  from  New  York.  But  I  suppose  the 
omnipresent,  social-subject  society  reporter  is  always, 
lying  in  wait.  I  never  want  to  see  my  name  in  type 
again  ! " 

Here  Miss  Mirabelle  opens  her  blue  eyes  and  purrs : 
"You  don't  mean  that,  Evie?  You  know  you  love  to 
see  your  name  in  print.  Weren't  you  the  happiest  girl 
in  New  York  when  you  saw  Miss  Evelyn  Valle"  Bulger 
as  one  of  the  invited  to  the  Patriarchs  ? " 

"Anyway  I  don't  want  to  see  my  name  in  print 
here." 

"Don't  you,  darling?  Then  you  sha'n't,"  laughs 
Mirie.  "I  know  a  nice  newspaper  correspondent  here. 
He'll  keep  your  name  out  of  the  papers  if  I  ask  him, 


THE     LADIES      JUGGERNAUT,  39 

and  I  will.  Don't  forget  I  did  you  a  favor,  Evie,  when 
we  visit  you  in  New  York,  and  do  your  best  to  make 
my  life  happy,  as  I  am  doing  for  you  in  St.  Augustine. 
Abelard  and  I  are  going  to  have  a  nice  little  confab 
about  you." 

Here  artless  little  Mirabelle,  evidently  overcome 
with  some  merry  thought,  runs  away  shrieking  v.ith 
laughter.  I  rise  to  pursue  her  and  demand  what  sht 
means,  but  my  boots  forbid  running. 

Noting  that  I  have  left  my  seat  Mr.  Cranmere  says: 
"Will  you  step  down  with  me  for  a  walk  on  Bay  Street 
this  afternoon." 

"Not  with  these  boots  on  !"  I  say  determinedly. 

"Oh,  come  in  anything — slippers — bare  feet,  if  you 
like.  Please  promise  ! "  He  looks  so  wistful  that  I, 
recalling  the  loneliness  he  had  complained  of  when  the 
music  and  quinine  passion  got  into  his  eyes,  and  remem- 
bering our  interrupted  tete-a-tete,  answer:  "Yes  !" 

"Good  business  !"  he  laughs,  quoting  me;  then  con- 
tinues: "Apropos  of  business,  I  must  catch  Mr. 
Ripley  a  minute.  Don't  forget  four  o'clock  !  "  And 
he  crosses  the  patio  to  where  Jonas  stands  talking  to 
some  Western  friends  at  the  entrance  to  the  rotunda ; 
while  I  take  my  weary  path  to  my  room,  anxious 
to  get  rid  of  my  abominations  and  become  a  fairy 
again,  feet  and  all. 

In  my  chamber,  Elise,  on  hearing  the  story  of  my 
English  walking  shoes  rolls  up  her  eyes,  shrugs  her 
shoulders  and  mutters:  "Cettc  b£te  <T Anglais !  " 

To  this  I  cry,  indignation  in  my  voice:  "He  meant 
kindly  by  me.  Stop  talking  and  go  to  work!" 

From  under  my  maid's  skilled  hands  I  make  my  ap- 
pearance at  lunch  in  a  natty  little  walking  costume  and 
walking  boots,  but  French  ones — soft,  easy,  petite  and 
chic. 

"You  can  call  me  Cinderella  now,  if  you  want,  my 
dear,"  I  whisper  to  Mirabelle,  as  I  take  a  chair  oppo- 
site to  her  at  the  lunch  table. 


40  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  * 

Mrs.  Armitage  is  at  the  head  and  Jonas  at  the  foot, 
this  young  gentleman,  in  his  diffident  way,  taking  his 
post  at  our  table  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  party.  In 
fact  I  hear  him  whisper  to  the  head  waiter  :  "This  is 
my  regular  seat."  A  communication  which,  fortified  by 
a  greenback,  makes  him  secure,  and  as  there  are  only 
four  chairs  at  our  table,  embarrasses  any  act  of  hospital- 
ity in  the  dining  direction  on  my  part  to  Mr.  Cranmere, 
whom  Jonas  now  appears  to  regard  with  particular 
enmity,  his  dogged  hatred  of  last  night  seeming  to  have 
been  replaced  by  malicious  vindictiveness. 

As  I  sit  down,  Mr.  Ripley's  remarks  are  pertinent  as 
to  the  object  of  his  dislike.  "What  ineffable  idiots 
these  British  firms  send  over  here  to  represent  them  in 
their  investments  and  business!  "  he  breaks  out.  "  No 
wonder  they're  salted  right  and  left.  Look  at  the 
fellows  buying  all  the  cattle  yards  in  Chicago  from 
Armour,  who's  dead  sure  to  run  opposition  to  them  and 
run  'em  out  of  the  business,  of  which  he  holds  a 
monopoly.  See  their  purchase  of  Milwaukee  and  St. 
Louis  breweries!  What  chance  will  there  be  for  divi- 
dends from  them?  Do  they  think  that  the  Dutch  are 
going  to  buy  English  beer?" 

I  eat  my  oysters  and  say  nothing  to  this,  knowing  it 
is  but  a  peroration  to  a  personal  eulogy  of  my  whole- 
sale druggist.  A  minute  after  Jonas  comes  to  the 
point:  "Look  at  that  ineffable  ass  of  the  English 
walking  boots!  You  don't  wear  them  now,  I  see,  Miss 
Bulgee,"  he  jeers,  putting  a  Chicago  French  accent  on 
the  final  syllable  of  my  name  with  elaborate  flourish. 
"  Were  they  torturers?  But  what  won't  American  girls 
do  for  these  foreign  adventurers,  nicknamed  Counts 
and  Barons?" 

"That  can't  apply,"  I  remark,  "to  Mr.  Cranmere. 
He  took  particular  care  this  morning  to  inform  me  he 
was  only  a  representative  of  an  English  drug  house." 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  41 

With  this  I  present  Jonas  with  Mr.  Cranmere's  card. 

"Yes,  he  gave  me  one  of  these  himself,  this  morn 
ing,  and  then  proved  himself  a  business  idiot — offered 
me  chloral  hydrate  at  ten  cents  a  pound  under  the 
market.  And  I  nailed  him  for  a  contract  with  Pink, 
White  &  Co.  for  all  I'll  need  for  a  year.  Pink,  White 
&  Co.  will  discharge  him  when  they  see  this  docu- 
ment," says  Jonas  with  a  hilarious  chuckle,  producing 
the  formal  record  and  gloating  over  it,  then  replacing 
it  carefully  in  his  pocketbook. 

"And  he  signed  with  you  without  knowing  the 
current  price  ?  "  I  ask  nervously. 

"Yes.  As  soon  as  I  saw  he  was  under  the  market 
quotation,  I  told  him  he'd  have  to  settle  it  on  the 
minute  as  I  was  going  to  leave  to-morrow.  So  we 
signed  duplicate  contracts,"  returns  Mr.  Ripley.  Then 
he  adds  :  "  Don't  look  as  if  you  pitied  him  and  was 
glad  I  was  going  away — for  I'm  not!  That  was  only 
to  hurry  your  British  business  man  !" 

For  there  is  rage  and  disgust  in  my  eyes.  What 
will  poor  Mr.  Cranmere  think  when  he  discovers  that 
he  has  been  done  as  so  many  Englishmen  have  by 
American  business  adroitness  ?  Will  he  imagine  me  a 
party  to  Jonas's  sharp  trade  ?  I  would  warn  him,  but 
it  is  too  late.  He  has  signed  the  document.  He  may 
be  discharged — and  with  the  debts  he  has  spoken  of — 
poor  Mr.  Cranmere  !  It  takes  away  my  appetite.  I 
am  glad  when  lunch  is  over. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  sit  apparently  reading, 
dawdling  away  the  time  until  four  o'clock,  I  see  Mirie 
in  conversation  with  a  bright,  dapper-looking  little 
chap,  who  is  dodging  about  the  hotel  talking  to  a  great 
many  people  and  apparently  doing  a  good  deal  of 
questioning. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  say:  "  Mirabelle,  I  see  you 
have  a  beau." 


42  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"A  beau?" 

"Yes,  that  little  gentleman  with  whom  you  were 
walking  about." 

"  Oh,  he's  good  for  quiet  afternoons.  He's  the 
society  reporter  of  the  Jacksonville  Statesman."  Here 
the  girl  looks  amused  and  giggles  contemplatively, 
probably  thinking  of  her  little  flirtation  with  the  news- 
paper gentleman. 

A  few  minutes  after  I  see  her  in  conversation 
with  Mr.  Ripley,  and  she  seems  to  amuse  him,  for 
Jonas  bursts  out  into  tremendous  guffaws,  haw-haws 
and  he-hes,  and  is  very  merry  about  something.  Is 
it  the  contract  out  of  which  he  has  swindled — yes, 
I  will  use  the  word — Mr.  Cranmere,  who  in  his  absence 
on  the  Orinoco,  Amazon  and  African  Gold  Coast  must 
have  lost  track  of  the  price  of  chloral  hydrate  ? 

At  four  o'clock  the  gentleman  of  my  thoughts  comes 
slashing  along,  this  time  in  afternoon  walking  suit, 
Prince  Albert,  high  hat  and  faultless  Piccadilly  get-up 
of  the  preceding  year.  I  rise  and  would  tell  him  of 
the  mistake  he  has  made ;  but  he  looks  so  happy  that  I 
do  not  mention  it. 

However,  he  does.  As  we  walk  out  of  the  court- 
yard, turning  down  the  Alameda  toward  Bay  Street,  he 
says:  "I  really  am  quite  pleased  with  myself.  I 
made  a  contract  for  an  awful  lot  of  that  chloral  hy- 
drate with  Ripley.  After  a  time  my  firm  will  think 
I'm  really  becoming  a  business  man  and  raise  my 
salary.  I  know  it  will  please  Pink,  who  says  I  have 
commercial  instincts  in  me." 

I  don't  dare  to  crush  his  hopes  but  feel  miserably 
over  it.  Probably  a  little  sympathy  gets  into  my 
voice,  though  we  talk  on  other  subjects.  This  seems 
to  please  him.  We  pass  a  beautiful  afternoon  doing 
Vedder's  Museum,  and  taking  a  sail  in  a  boat  on  the 
blue  waters  of  Matanzas  Inlet ;  Mr.  Cranmere  remark- 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  43 

ing  plaintively  as  I  step  into  the  skiff:  "Now  your 
feet  will  get  wet.  I  say,  why  didn't  you  wear  those — 

"Those  walking  boots?  Never  again!"  I  reply 
sternly.  "  I  am  suffering  from  them  now." 

"  You  have  given  them  away  ?  You've  thrown  them 
out  of  the  window  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  shall  keep  them." 

"For  use?" 

"  No,  for  a  souvenir." 

"By  Jove!  Put  'em  in  a  glass  ease,  don't  yet 
know?  "he  says.  "What  sharp  ideas  you  American 
girls  have." 

He  seems  so  happy  in  my  society  that  I  invite  him 
to  the  hop  that  takes  place  at  the  Ponce  de  Leon  this 
evening. 

" Delighted !"  he  answers.  "I  haven't  danced  with 
a  white  woman  in  two  years.  Black  beauties  Son't 
count,  yer  know." 

"Very  well,  we'll  give  you  a  civilized  entertainment 
this  evening,"  I  laugh. 

With  this  he  bids  me  good-bye,  and  four  hours 
afterward  stalks  into  the  Ponce  de  Leon  in  immacu- 
late evening  dress,  patent  leather  pumps  and  black 
silk  stockings,  dressed  as  elaborately  as  he  would  for  a 
ball  in  Belgravia. 

His  English  style  makes  several  New  York 
dandies  who  have  come  ashore  from  a  yacht 
rather  envious.  They  can  only  imitate  him  feebly. 
Nobody  but  an  Englishman  could  dance  in  his 
dashing  British  fashion — careless  of  toes,  thought- 
less of  flounces,  scattering  dismay  about  him,  but 
triumph  for  me;  every  woman  whose  dress  he  treads 
on  turns  round,  looks  at  him  and  sees  that  I  have 
a  masculine  partner,  of  which  there  is  a  grea*  dearth 
always  in  the  Ponce  de  Leon  ballroom. 

This  evening  Mr.  Cranmere  seems  bound  to  make 


44  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

himself  agreeable.  He  leads  Mrs.  Armitage  through  the 
lancers ;  he  dances  once  or  twice  with  Mirabelle  who, 
the  second  time  she  receives  his  attentions,  seems 
troubled  about  something.  It  isn't  her  costume,  I'm 
sure;  as  the  girl  looks  exquisite  in  her  French-made 
gown  that  gives  a  pink  shading  to  her  plump,  dimpled 
snow-white  shoulders. 

She  comes  to  me  and  opens  her  lips  about  to  speak, 
then  as  Mr.  Cranmere  remarks :  "This  is  my  dance,  Miss 
Bulge"e,"  Mirie  scowls  and  whispers,  "Why,  it's  the  fifth 
one  already  this  evening;  what  a  monopolist  you  are, 
Evie,"  and  closes  her  lips  with  a  snap  as  her  eyes  grow 
envious  and  vindictive. 

There  is  something  on  this  child's  mind  and  now  I 
know  she  will  never  speak  it  Her  father  was  called 
"Shut-Jaw  Armitage,"  and  Mirabelle,  though  she  has 
feminine  facility  of  tongue,  on  great  occasions  has  her 
father's  jaw. 

Our  dance  finished,  Mr.  Cranmere  murmurs:  "Can't 
I  take  you  in  to  supper  ? " 

"There  is  no  supper,"  I  reply  sadly. 

"No  supper — a  ball  without  supper?  I  say,  don't 
they  give  suppers  at  balls  in  America  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  reply,  "generally.  Come  to  New  York  and 
I'll  show  you  gastronomical  displays  that  will  make 
you  open  your  eyes  as  well  as  your  mouth.  But  these 
hops  given  by  the  hotel  are  economical  and  hungry." 

He  looks  pathetic,  then  goes  on  eagerly:  "Make  me 
forget  the  absence  of  food  in  the  presence  of  beauty. 
Please  take  a  stroll  with  me  on  the  corridor  and  into 
the  garden.  That  costume  would  be  so  awfully  fetch- 
ing with  moonlight  effects." 

In  this  idea  I  agree  with  him.  My  costume  is,  I  flat- 
ter myself,  a  chef-d'oeuvre  from  Paris. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  could  stand  even  moonlight,"  I 
reply,  "only,"  here  I  laugh,  "there  is  no  moon!" 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT,  45 

"Well,  toss  a  shawl  over  your  shoulders  and  come 
anyway.  We'll  let  the  electric  lights  stand  for  the 
moon,"  he  whispers. 

I  don't  think  I  would  go  with  him,  but  just  at  this 
time  I  happen  to  see  Mr.  Ripley  stalking  about,  evi- 
dently in  search  of  me. 

"Very  well,"  I  assent  hurriedly,  and  permit  him  to 
place  a  wrap  about  me.  For  I  have  not,  to  use  a  slang 
expression,  been  bluffed  out  of  my  evening  costume 
de  rigueur  by  Mirie's  mermaid  insinuations  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  am  decollete;  a  style  of  gown  which  I  flatter 
myself  is  becoming  to  me.  My  ivory  shoulders  will  bear 
comparison  with  even  Mirabelle's  snowy  dimples. 

He  cloaks  me  so  deftly  that  he  must  have  done  a 
good  deal  of  this  business  in  some  former  epoch  of 
his  life — probably  when  he  was  a  dashing  subaltern  in 
the  Household  Brigade. 

A  minute  after  we  are  in  the  courtyard,  away  from 
the  bustle  of  the  ball  yet  just  within  hearing  of  its 
orchestra,  the  strains  from  which  floating  round  us 
lend  the  charm  of  music  to  the  tropic  scene.  Some- 
how or  other  Mr.  Cranmere  selects  for  us  a  seat  away 
from  passers-by,  and  where  the  palms  shade  us  from 
electric  lights.  This  day  seems  to  have  made  us  at 
least  good  friends. 

We  chat  unaffectedly  but  unromantically  until  he 
chances  to  tell  me  of  one  of  his  adventures  in  the 
Andes  of  Peru,  where  a  mule  nearly  fell  with  him  into 
that  tremendous  chasm  of  the  Apurimac,  which  is 
crossed  at  dizzy  heights  by  that  wondrous  hanging 
bridge  of  withes.  "If  the  beast's  hind  foot  had  gone 
two  inches  further  I  would  never  have  seen  Florida. 
The  Condor  vultures  would  have  known  how  I  tasted, 
don't  yer  know?"  he  concludes. 

Then  his  eyes  catch  something  in  my  face  which  even 
the  darkness  does  not  hide,  and  he  says  softly:  "  Would 
you  have  been 


46  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Why — I — I  should  never  have  known  you,"  I  reply 
with  a  nervous  little  laugh.  Somehow  I  think  the  world 
wouldn't  seem  quite  so  pleasant  as  it  does  now. 

"Of  course  I  should  have  never  known  you,  Miss 
Bulgee.  That  would  have  been  hard  lines  on  me,"  he 
remarks  contemplatively. 

Perhaps  my  silence  makes  him  bold,  for  he  adds 
suddenly:  "  I  should  never  get  one  of  your  nice  little 
hand-shakes,  don't  yer  understand?  " 

Good  Heavens!  He  has  audaciously  taken  my  hand 
and  given  it  one  of  his  big  hand-shakes. 

In  another  instant  I  would  draw  it  away  but  before  I 
get  the  chance,  a  voice  comes  to  us.  It  says  in  flunky 
tones:  "  It's  your  time  to  take  your  quinine,  sir.  I've 
been  waiting  for  you  hall  about  the  lobbies.  Miss 
Harmitage  directed  me,  sir." 

"Maddox,  you're — you're  a  faithful  beast,"  snarls 
his  master  swallowing  the  quinine.  Then  he  gives  the 
faithful  Maddox  a  look  that  makes  him  disappear  hur- 
riedly in  the  palm  trees,  while  I  utter  a  little  prayer  for 
Mirie. 

Somehow  the  quinine  seems  to  take  the  sentiment 
from  both  of  us.  I  rise  and  say:  "  It's  time  to  go  in. 
The  hop  is  over  and  the  band  is  playing  '  Home,  Sweet 
Home.'" 

"You'll — you'll  forgive  Maddox?"  he  says  in  his 
stupid  English  way,  which  makes  me  furious. 

"Forgive  him!"  I  answer.  "  What  do  you  mean? " 
My  tone  is  icy. 

"You'll — you'll  forgive  me?"  he  stammers. 

"  Why  ?  "     My  accent  is  Siberian. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  says  gloomily,  "only  I  thought 
you  were  angry  about  something.  I — I  hoped  it  was 
Maddox." 

"I'm  not  angry,"  I  sneer,  "only  it's  pleasant  some- 
times to  get  away  from  the  drug  business."  With  this 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  4? 

I  turn  from  him  and  in  another  instant  I  would  be  on 
the  portico  amid  the  lights  and  crowd  and  safe ;  but  I 
don't  know  my  man.  The  quinine  powder  is  doing  its 
work  on  him  well — too  well. 

In  another  second  he  is  beside  me  and  has  got  my 
hand,  muttering:  "You  shan't  run  off  in  a  huff  about 
quinine."  He  looks  at  me,  his  eyes  are  very  bright, 
and  adds:  "You  don't  go  until  you  promise  te>  take 
an  early  morning  constitutional  with  me." 

"Where?  "I  ask. 

"Anywhere.  It's  a  constitutional  I  want.  Promise, 
at  eight  o'clock."  His  tone  is  so  determined — the  hour 
mentioned  is  so  early  that  I  know  I  shall  have  no  ques- 
tions asked.  Even  Mirabelle  sleeps  until  nine.  "  Yes 
— please  let  me  go,"  I  answer. 

" Quite  right!     Meet  you  in  the  rotunda  at  eight." 

Good  heavens!     He  has  kissed  my  hand. 

If  any  one  saw  him ! 

I  am  half  way  up  the  stairs  before  I  remember  the 
elevator  is  running. 

Some  one  did  see  him  ! 

Coming  up  the  unusual  stairway  and  not  by  the  usual 
elevator,  I  am  unnoticed.  As  I  walk  along  the  cor- 
ridor I  hear  a  voice.  It  is  Mirie  talking  to  her  horrid 
dog,  which  sits  upon  a  chair  gazing  into  the  courtyard 
and  eating  chocolate  caramels  in  the  electric  light. 

"Abelard,"  she  says,  "you  saw  the  naughty  Evie 
let  him  kiss  her  ?  " 

Good  gracious !  It  seems  to  me  the  uncanny  beast 
winks! 

"That's  right,  tell  the  truth,  doggie,"  whispers  his 
mistress.  "We'll  hold  a  consultation  over  a  girl  who 
monopolizes  the  only  catchy  man  about,  won't  we?" 

Here  Mirabelle  looks  vindictive  in  the  half  light. 
Then  her  mood  changes.  She  whispers:  "Show  me 
how  he  kissed  her,  Abelard,  and  I'll  give  you  a 
caramel" 


4$  THE    LADIFS*    JUGGERNAUT. 

Here,  with  diabolical  ingenuity,  she  puts  one  of  the 
beast's  beloved  candies  between  her  own  fair  lips  and 
the  dog  jumps  up  at  her  striving  to  gain  the  s\veet. 
Then  laughing,  her  mood  changes  again.  She 
whispers:  "Down,  Englishman,  down!"  and  toss- 
ing Abelard  the  chocolate,  jeers:  "You've  got  your 
sweet,  too." 

At  this  moment  I  pass  her.  "  Ah,  Evie,"  she  laughs, 
calling  out  to  me,  "you  should  have  heard  us.  Abelard 
and  I  were  chatting  about  you !  " 

But  I  am  too  indignant  to  answer  her.  I  go  to  my 
room  and — idiot  that  I  am — sit  down  and  write  this 
half  the  night;  and  every  time  I  look  at  my  digits 
which  become  inky  with  my  work,  I  feel  his  kiss  upon 
my  hand. 

Ah  me;  quinine  is  a  curious  drug. 

Is  it  like  opium?    Shall  I  dream  of  him? 


CHAPTER  III. 

"OUR   FIRST   DAY   TOGETHER." 

Sf.  Augustine,  March  ist.,  1894. 

THANK  heaven,  I  don't  dream  of  him.  I  sleep  the 
sleep  of  the  just;  but  curiously  I  awake  to  disgust  Elise 
by  calling  her  at  7 :3o  to  array  me. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  am  in  the  rotunda. 

Yes,  Mr.  Cranmere  is  waiting  for  me ;  he  has  paid 
me  the  compliment  of  being  eager. 

"I  turned  out  at  six  o'clock,"  he  says.  "I  have 
been  walking  about  trying  to  find  a  nice  place  for  a 
constitutional." 

"  Do  you  think  you  need  a  constitutional  after  two 
hours  trudging?  "  I  laugh. 

"Yes,  with  you"  he  replies,  and  looks  rather  fresh 
and  ruddy  under  his  sallow  skin.  His  eyes  are  bright; 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  49 

altogether  he  seems  very  breezy  and  wholesome  in  his 
light  flannel  walking  suit  and  heavy  alligator  shoes. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  need  breakfast  first?  " 

"That  is  prepared;  trust  me,  I'm  a  traveller,"  he 
returns.  His  manner  is  mysterious,  but  I  accompany 
him  through  the  great  arch  of  the  Loggia. 

Together  we  cross  the  plaza  of  the  Alcazar  and  I 
find  myself  in  its  pretty  restaurant  where,  apparently, 
Mr.  Cranmere  has  been  before,  as  there  is  a  charming 
little  breakfast  with  fresh  strawberries,  the  sweetest 
Indian  River  oranges,  fish  just  out  of  the  water,  an 
omelette  and  salad,  coffee,  and  a  very  fragrant  pineapple 
that  was  plucked  in  Cuba  only  two  days  ago — so  Mr. 
Cranmere  informs  me  as  he  plays  the  host. 

What  would  Mirabelle  and  her  mother,  and  what 
would  Jonas  say  if  they  saw  our  tete-a-tete  meal? 

However,  the  breakfast  is  good ;  I  am  hungry  and  I 
don't  care. 

Somehow  we  dawdle  over  this;  Mr.  Cranmere  having 
got  me  away  from  the  Ponce  de  Leon,  where  inter- 
ruptions  might  take  place,  seems  to  forget  his  desire 
for  striding  about  St.  Augustine. 

But  breakfast  is  over  at  last,  and  we  stroll  past  the 
swimming  baths  to  the  tennis  court  where  my  escort 
enjoys  his  cigar,  and  I  watch  some  gentlemen  practic- 
ing long  lobs  and  sharp  smashes  at  the  net. 

After  a  little  of  this,  he  says,  inquiringly,  in  his 
English,  not-an-idea-in-his-head  manner:  "  What  shall 
we  do?  " 

"You  invited  me  for  a  walk,"  I  remark  somewhat 
curtly. 

"  Too  hot!  "  Then,  tossing  away  his  cigar,  he  adds: 
"  What  do  you  say  to  oranges?  " 

"  You  saw  me  eat  two — not  half  an  hour  ago." 

"But  oranges  off  the  trees;  they're  a  different  fruit. 
Let's  go  to  a  grove  and  really  enjoy  them."  With  this, 


So  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Mr.  Cranmere  goes  into  conversation  with  a  negro 
hack-driver  whose  victoria  is  standing  beside  the  tennis 
court.  This  Jehu  informs  us  that  there  is  "a  mighty 
fine  grove"  up  the  San  Sebastian,  and  it's  "an 
almighty  fine  drive  "  to  get  there. 

"'Clare  to  goodness  yo'  don'  know  the  beauties  of 
dis  «pot  of  yearth,  'less  you  take  a  drive  in  my  car- 
riage. I  kin  show  yo'  eberything  that's  bin  done  since 
de  war.  What  I  don'  know  'bout  St.  Augustine  would 
'stonish  Flaglerhisself.  My  inscriptions  of  surroundin' 
scenery  will  be  worth  de  five  dolla's  you'll  pay  me  fer 
de  trip,"  remarks  the  sable  cabby  effusively. 

"Let's  go  with  him,"  I  say,  thrughtless  of  chape- 
rone. 

"All  right,  we'll  make  a  picnic,"  returns  Cranmere. 
"  Lunch  under  the  orange  trees  and  all  that.  Just  wait 
while  I  make  the  purchases." 

In  five  minutes  he  has  returned,  remarking  senten- 
tiously:  "Bread  and  butter,  cheese,  biscuits,  cold 
fowl,  a  box  of  sardines,  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  a 
quinine  powder  for  me.  I  told  the  druggist  to  be 
careful  and  make  it  exactly  twenty-one  and  a  quarter 
grains. " 

Then  we  step  into  the  open  carriage  and  drive 
away,  the  darky  hackman  putting  us  at  our  ease  by 
remarking  anxiously:  "Say,  boss,  yo'  didn't  forget  I 
was  in  the  crowd  when  yo'  bought  dat  lunch  ?  " 

For  answer,  Mr.  Cranmere  points  to  our  packages, 
which  indicate  full  rations  for  eveiybody. 

At  this  the  darky  merrily  chirrups  to  his  horses  and 
away  we  go,  crossing  the  San  Sebastian  and  following 
the  Tocoi  road  through  scenery  which  our  cicerone 
says  is  "tremendous  fine,"  but  which  I  note  is  flat, 
quiet  and  uninteresting,  consisting  chiefly  of  sand, 
scrub  oaks  and  dwarf  palmetto's  interspersed  here  and 
there  with  larger  trees,  the  view  being  generally  cii*- 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  51 

cumscribed,  as  we  cannot  see  more  than  a  few  hun- 
dred feet  on  each  side  of  the  drive. 

"I  say,  how's  this?"  whispers  Mr.  Cranmere  con- 
tentedly. "  Nothing  to  distract  our  attention  from 
ourselves."  We  would  have  a  pleasant  tete-a-tete  of  it, 
were  it  not  for  the  driver,  who  turns  round  most 
of  the  time,  permitting  his  horses  to  walk,  and  chat- 
ting with  the  easy  familiarity  of  the  darky  race. 
Finding  that  we  pay  little  or  no  attention  to  him,  and 
determined  to  create  excitement,  he  suddenly  rouses 
me  with  this  startling  remark:  "  Say,  Missie,  did  you 
ever  see  snakes  ? "  and  would  go  into  an  effusive  and 
horrible  description  of  some  fearful  snake  adventures 
with  moccasins  and  rattlers. 

Here  a  new  phase  of  my  escort's  character  de- 
velops; he  says,  shortly:  "  Nigger,  stop  your  mouth !  " 

"  Yis,  sah,"  answers  the  darky,  and  turns  his  at- 
tention to  the  horses  again. 

"You  know  how  to  deal  with  him,"  I  whisper. 

"Oh,  I've  had  experience  with  them.  The  Jamaica 
nigger  is  the  worst  on  earth.  I  wasn't  going  to  have 
him  destroying  your  picnic  joys  and  making  you  jump 
every  time  you  trod  on  a  branch  in  the  orange  planta- 
tion. •  And  we'll  soon  be  there,  I  think." 

For  the  road  has  turned  toward  the  San  Sebastian, 
which  sluggish  stream  we  cross,  and  a  few  minutes  after 
are  driven  in  through  green  hedges  of  prickly  osage 
into  one  of  the  prettiest  orange  groves  north  of  Palatka, 
to  be  welcomed  with  Florida  hospitality  by  the  man 
who  occupies  it. 

A  dollar  buys  the  privileges  of  the  place;  we  can 
pick  and  eat  and  take  away  all  we  want.  The  pro- 
prietor shows  us  the  best  trees,  and  a  minute 
after  I  give  cries  of  astonished  delight  as  I  enjoy  a 
Florida  seedless  orange  in  all  its  juicy  freshness,  plucked 
by  my  own  greedy  hand. 


$2  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

Our  driver  throws  the  cushions  of  his  carriage 
on  the  ground  for  us  to  sit  upon ;  the  orange  farmer 
loans  us  knives  and  forks,  plates  and  tumblers,  and 
a  few  minutes  after  we  are  in  the  midst  of  an  im- 
promptu meal.  Our  hackman,  who  calls  himself 
proudly  "Mr.  Lazarus,"  and  seems  to  think  it  a 
very  distinguished  cognomen,  stands  behind  us  dis- 
posing of  what  we  leave,  and  eats  so  continuously 
that  my  companion  remarks  sotto  voce  to  me :  "By  Jove ! 
we've  found  one  way  of  stopping  his  jaw!  " 

To  this  I  laugh,  as  my  spirits  are  high,  and  we  finish 
up  the  fete  by  champagne  in  tumblers.  Mr.  Cranmere 
remembering  his  quinine,  takes  his  powder  in  the  wine 
and  says  it  rather  heightens  the  flavor.  At  all  events 
we  are  both  in  buoyant  humor  as  we  wander  about 
the  orange  grove  picking  the  fruit  and  eating  so  many 
I  am  ashamed  to  remember  the  number. 

But  all  things  come  to  an  end,  and  a  few  minutes 
after  we  drive  away,  a  dozen  of  fresh  navels  lying  on 
the  seat  beside  us  and  I  using  a  branch  of  orange  blos- 
soms as  a  sunshade. 

My  escort  looks  inquiringly  at  me  and  says: 
"Where — to  the  Ponce  de  Leon?" 

"What!  so  soon?"  dissent  I,  in  a  tone  that  seems 
to  please  him  greatly. 

This  conversation  coming  to  our  driver's  large  and 
open  ears,  he  turns  and  says:  "Say,  boss,  do  you 
want  a  real  good  flirting  place? " 

At  which  I  gasp  in  dismay  as  Mr.  Cranmere  laughs : 
"Yes!" 

"No,"  I  say  hurriedly,  "I—"  But  the  driver  does 
not  seem  to  hear  me,  and  chirrups  to  his  horses  and 
snaps  his  whip.  We  dash  across  the  country  by  a 
pretty  lane,  and  following  a  fairly  good  road  arrive  on 
the  banks  of  North  River. 

In  front  of  us  the  salt  waters  of  the  ocean  that  have 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  53 

come  in  through  Matanzas  inlet  ripple  in  the  sunlight 
flowing  softly  over  white  seasand;  behind  us  are 
glimpses  of  scrubby  timber,  palmetto  and  oak.  The 
water  is  blue  save  where  it  gleams  from  the  light  above 
and  the  sand  beneath  it.  The  sun  warms  the  fresh 
sea  breeze  coming  in  from  the  Atlantic  to  a  perfect 
temperature.  Altogether,  it  is  a  Florida  beach,  a 
Florida  sky  and  a  Florida  day  in  Spring — which 
means  the  poetry  of  the  tropics  without  its  heat. 

"By  Jove!"  remarks  Mr.  Cranmere,  "this  beats  all 
the  Boulognes  and  Brightons  of  old  Europe." 

A  minute  after  our  carriage  has  stopped  and  he 
helps  me  out.  We  stroll  over  the  sea  sand  to  the  rip- 
pling waters.  Were  I  alone  I  should  take  off  my  shoes 
and  stockings  and  splash  through  the  soft  waves. 

As  it  is  I  sit  down  and  play  with  the  sand,  my  gentle- 
man making  a  tent  over  me,  as  he  calls  it,  with  my 
sunshade,  which  he  erects,  piling  the  white  sand  around 
its  handle. 

Here  he  enjoys  another  cigar,  and  it  seems  to  make 
him  both  reminiscent  and  romantic.  He  gets  to  giving 
me  some  glimpses  of  his  past  life.  Is  it  with  premedi- 
tation ? 

This  comes  about  by  a  suggestion  I  make  concern- 
ing Jonas:  "I  warn  you,"  I  say,  for  I  feel  rather 
sorry  for  the  poor  innocent  fellow  who  has  been  done 
by  American  shrewdness — "I  warn  you  against  Mr. 
Ripley.  He  is  a  very  talented  business  man." 

"Yes,"  remarks  Mr.  Cranmere.  "I've  had  one 
dealing  with  him." 

"And  he  has  taken  advantage  of  you  ?  "  I  say  impul- 
sively. 

"I  hardly  see  how  !  "  he  answers  between  the  puffs 
of  his  cigar. 

"Why,  he  got  an  immense  contract  from  you  for 
some  chloral  something — I  forget  the  rest  of  the  name 
—away  below  the  market  I" 


54  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Did  he  ?"  answers  Cranmere.  "Perhaps  he  did— 
what  he  thought  was  the  market.  Somehow  you  know 
at  times  I  seem  to  have  some  business  instincts  in  me, 
though  where  I  got  them  from  God  knows.  Not  surely 
from  my  governor. " 

Here  he  gives  a  kind  of  wince,  then  continues: 
"Though  my  governor  generally  holds  his  own.  He 
has  with  me  pretty  well  always.  I  say,  fancy  a  father 
getting  the  mother's  jointure  out  of — "  but  he  stops 
himself  and  adds:  "What's  the  good  of  thinking  of 
old  times  ?  Here  I  am  trying  to  be  a  business  man — 
hang  me  if  I  don't  believe  I'm  the  only  one  of  my 
family  who  ever  tried  that  game,  though  we've  done 
our  share  in  others — billiards,  dicing,  baccarat  and 
horseflesh. "  This  sporting  enumeration  is  rather  sadly 
sighed  out  between  wreaths  of  blue  Havana  smoke. 

"Yes,"  I  remark,  "this  must  be  a  great  change  from 
life  in  London." 

"It  is.  But  I  am  better  here.  You  see  I  am  out  of 
the  way  of  temptation,  don't  yer  know  ?  Fancy  a  great 
capital  with  every  tradesman  in  it  conspiring  to  ruin  a 
young  fellow." 

"Conspiring  to  ruin  a  young  fellow?"  I  say, 
astonished. 

"Yes;  trusting  him,  taking  his  bills,  I.  O.  U.'s  and 
acceptances;  giving  him  rope  enough  to  hang  himself. 
By  Jove  !  "  he  adds,  "many's  the  bright  young  life 
I've  seen  go  out;  many's  the  dashing  young  blade  I've 
known  come  to  grief  and  drop  out  of  the  swim  under 
the  curse  of  British  credit  and  the  English  race  course. 
There  was  little  Bertie  Epsom-Downs,  as  dashing  a  cor- 
net as  ever  rode  to  St.  James  in  the  Blues;  and  Cap- 
tain Ferrars,  of  Ours,  both  went  down  after  the  Derby 
and  the  Oaks.  Little  Epsom-Downs  sold  his  commis- 
sion and  is  now  on  a  cattle  ranch  in  Manitoba  I  believe ; 
Ferrars  blew  out  his  brains,  but  there  was  a  woman 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  55 

connected  with  his  case;  that  always  complicates  mat- 
ters, don't  you  see  ?  It  was  the  same  year  I  went." 
This  is  said  with  a  melancholy  sigh. 

"You  went?" 

"Yes,  went  out  of  the  swim — resigned.  But  I 
stood  out  until  the  St.  Leger;  that  was  too  much 
forme.  If  Ladybird  had  not  c?me  in  second — "he 
mutters  with  a  snap  of  his  jaw. 

."But  your  father?" 

"Oh!  the  governor." 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  him  to  help  you  out  ? " 

At  this  he  gives  a  shriek  of  jeering  laughter  that 
horrifies  me,  then  mutters  sardonically:  "You  don't 
know  the  old  boy!  " 

In  my  mind  is  the  thought:  "  What  prescription  can 
do  him  good  ? "  With  a  start  I  remember  the  only 
prescription  that  ever  effects  a  cure  in  such  cases  as 
his  is  an  American  heiress!  " 

Somehow  or  other  this  thought  seems  to  get  into  his 
mind  too.  He  mutters:  "Yes,  I  know  what  you're 
thinking  of.  Why  did  I  not  make  a  rich  marriage,  or 
something  of  that  sort  ?  That's  what  the  governor 
suggested.  There  was  a  cotton  spinner's  daughter — 
but  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  thought  I  would  try  and  see  if 
I  couldn't  become  a  business  man.  Business  men 
make  such  jolly  fortunes  sometimes,  don't  yer  know?" 

"Yes,"  I  remark,  "such  men  as  Mr.  Ripley,  who 
knows  the  price  of  what  he  buys  and  sells — Chloral 
Hy-Hydrate,  for  instance. " 

I  don't  know  whether  I  have  the  name  of  the  drug 
right,  but  Mr.  Cranmere  seems  to  understand  me  for 
he  laughs:  "I  say;  don't  sneer  at  nie  until  you  know — 
and  don't  talk  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  tlr'n1;  '"  Eng- 
land and  home  now.  In  fact,  I'm  mighty  giau  1  did 
take  a  cropper  on  the  St.  Leger.  I'm  very  happy  Lady- 
bird did  come  in  second.  Otherwise  I  wouldn't  be 


56  THE  LADIES' 

lying  in  this  sand  at  your  feet,  and — and  looking  at  you, 
Miss  Evie,"  (he  has  got  to  calling  me  Miss  Evie  now, 
though  in  a  very  respectful  way).  "Do  you  know," 
he  adds,  dreamily,  "that  I  would  sooner  lie  in  the 
sand  at  your  pretty  feet  than  do  anything  else,  just  at 
present  ?  " 

His  conversation  is  becoming  personal.  I  rise  and 
say:  "It's  time  to  go  home." 

As  I  look  about,  I  start  in  astonishment.  It  is  time 
to  go  home ! 

The  sun  is  sinking,  the  tide  is  coming  in.  I  think  I 
hear  the  voice  of  the  hackdriver  hallowing  to  us  from 
his  carriage  on  the  distant  road.  Is  it  in  warning? 

Good  heavens,  it  is  ! 

I  grow  pale,  the  horror  of  the  thing  is  so  tremen- 
dous. I  gasp  in  fright.  Myriads  of  tarantulas  are 
crawling  about  us. 

I  scream,  "Scorpions — scorpions  by  the  millions — 
my  God  !  we  are  lost ! " 

With  a  bound  Mr.  Cranmere  is  up.  Then  he  falls 
back — with  horror,  I  think.  A  second  later  I  discover 
that  he  is  rolling  over  in  convulsions  of  laughter. 
"Forgive  me  please, — they're,  they're  only  fiddler- 
crabs.  Have  you  never  seen  any — any  of  the  little 
beggars  before  ?  "  he  guffaws. 

"Fiddler-crabs?"  I  gasp. 

"Yes,  scorpions!  "  and  he  bursts  into  laughter  again. 

Fiddler-crabs!  I  am  so  angry  with  myself — with 
him,  that  I  stride  away,  careless  now  of  fiddler-crabs 
and  crushing  them  as  they  wriggle  under  my  feet.  I 
don't  care. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  says,  "but  it  was " 

"Don't  say  another  word;  don't  dare  to  laugh 
another  laugh !  A  smile  on  your  face  and  I'll  never 
forgive  you !  " 

"  Do  you  know  " — he  has  seized  my  hand  now — "  I 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  57 

wouldn't  do  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings  for  the 
world,"  he  whispers.  "I  had  sooner  be  stung  to 
death  by  fiddler-crabs " 

But  there  is  something  in  my  eye  that  makes  him  stop 
this  and  say  plaintively:    "Forgive  me!    You  know 
Miss  Evie " 

"Let  me  go! " 

"  Not  until  you  forgive  me." 

Somehow  I  think  he  likes  to  hold  my  hand.  But  he 
sha'n't,  therefore  I  forgive  him  very  quickly. 

Then  we  walk  along  together  over  the  sand,  I  show- 
ing my  fearless  and  desperate  nature  by  crushing  two 
or  three  fiddlers  vindictively  with  my  nice  French 
walking  boots,  which  apparently  are  not  the  thing  for 
this  kind  of  work. 

"What's  the  matter? "  he  asks,  noticing  that  I  limp. 
4 'You're  tired?" 

"  No,  the  sand — the  sand  in  my  walking  boots." 

"There!  didn't  I  tell  you  you'd  better  have  worn 
the — the  souvenirs?"  he  laughs.  "  Take  them  off  and 
shake  *He  sand  out.  Stay,  I'll  do  it  for  you. " 

"Never!"  I  cry,  and  stride  desperately  on.  A 
minute  after  I  give  a  gasp  of  despair.  I  will  have  to 
take  them  off,  I  will  even  have  to  take  off  my  stock- 
ings ;  the  water,  at  low  tide  unnoticed  in  a  little  creek, 
has  come  rapidly  in.  There  are  fifty  yards  of  wading 
between  us  and  the  carriage. 

"Hold  up  a  minute,  Miss  Evie,"  says  Cranmere; 
then  he  calls  to  the  driver:  "Sambo,  bring  your  car- 
riage and  horses  over  here,  the  water's  only  a  foot  deep !" 

"Can't  do  it,  boss,"  answers  the  darkey.  "Can't 
get  down  off  the  road." 

"  Can't  you  for  a  dollar? " 

"Couldn't  nohow! " 

Mr.  Cranmere  doesn't  raise  his  bid.  He  simply 
looks  at  me  and  mutters;  "I  say,  do  yer  mind? " 


58  THE    LADLED"    J0 

I  see  carry-you-across  in  his  eye,  and  answer 
blushingly:  "No,  not  very  much,  if — if  you  don't  drop 
me." 

I  haven't  time  to  say  more;  even  as  I  speak  I  find 
quinine  makes  a  man  very  strong.  My  escort  has 
picked  me  up  deftly  and  is  wading  with  me  recklessly 
through  the  water.  Somehow  he  holds  me  very 
tight.  One  of  my  arms  has  to  go  round  his  neck. 

The  next  second  I  give  a  shriek — he  is  in  to  his  knees. 
He  has  struck  a  deep  hole — in  another  instant  the  water 
will  be  at  his  waist — perhaps  he  will  be  swimming!  Oh 
Heavens,  my  poor  dress!  Pooh!  What  do  I  care?  I 
swim  like  a  duck !  If  we  get  in  deep  water  I'll  let  him 
think  he  preserves  my  life.  Romantic !  Delicious !  I 
cling  to  him  and  murmur  faintly  "Save  me,  save 
me!"  My  cheek  is  desperately  near  his  mustache. 
He  turns  his  face  away  from  temptation  and  whispers: 
"  Don't  fear.  It's  getting  shallower  now." 

A  minute  after  I  am  placed  "dry  as  a  bone,"  as  he 
remarks,  on  the  land. 

"If  the  hole  had  been  over  your  head,"  I  laugh, 
"  that  would  have  given  you  a  chance  to  play  the 
hero  and  swim  with  me." 

"I  couldn't  have  swum  with  you,"  he  says. 

"Why  not  ?     Are  you  not  a  swimmer  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  but  you  hugged  me  too  tight!  " 

I  give  an  abashed  "O-ough!"  and  run  to  the  car- 
riage. 

However,  he  was  very  nice.  He  could  have  kissed 
me,  but  he  didn't — though  I  believe  he  would  have 
liked — Ah!  what  am  I  thinking  about?  We  must 
get  home,  he'll  take  cold.  Somehow  I  have  got  to 
taking  care  of  him. 

"Keep  away  from  from  me  or  you'll  get  wet,"  he 
laughs  as  he  springs  after  me  into  the  victoria. 

"Say,  boss,  yo'll   spile  the  carriage  cushions.      If 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  59 

yo  a  offered  me  five  dollars  I'd  have  driven  over  and 
brought  yo'.  I  thought,"  says  the  driver  pathetically, 
"that  ef  yo'  didn't  raise  the  ante  the  young  lady 
would.  I  didn't  know  she'd  want  to  be  carried." 

"Get  us  to  the  hotel  as  soon  as  possible,"  says  Mr. 
Cranmere  sharply.  "Otherwise  I  may  forget  to  give 
you  a  dollar. " 

This  is  very  nice  of  him,  as  our  driver  seems  to  be  a 
philosopher  who  will  bring  confusion  upon  me.  Noting 
this,  my  escort  does  all  the  talking,  telling  me  that 
he  has  no  fear  of  taking  cold,  that  quinine  is  the  best 
preventive  of  that;  he  will  take  another  powder  as 
soon  as  he  gets  to  the  San  Marco. 

A  few  minutes  after  we  are  nearing  my  hotel,  and  I 
thank  him  for  a  delightful  day. 

"So  glad  you  enjoyed  it,"  he  says  vivaciously,  then 
adds  rather  sadly:  "I'll  hardly  have  another  whole 
day  to  myself  in  St.  Augustine.  I've  got  to  work 
now — must  get  through  my  investigation  of  that  coca- 
plum  business." 

"But  you'll  not  be  engaged  all  day  ?"  I  suggest. 

"  No,  I'll  be  free  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Very  well,  come  over  and  dine  with  us  to-morrow." 

"Thanks,  awfully." 

Here  the  carriage  stops  in  the  driveway  under  the 
hotel.  Our  Jehu  has  had  sense  enough  to  avoid  the 
front  entrance,  which  would  necessitate  a  walk  through 
the  courtyard,  which  would  have  been  embarrassing, 
as  my  plumes  are  somewhat  ruffled,  and  Mr.  Cran- 
mere's  wading  business  has  made  the  lower  portion  of 
his  costume  certainly  disreputable,  as  he  is  a  mass  of 
salt  water,  dried  mud  and  sea  sand. 

Notwithstanding  his  guise,  after  he  has  assisted 
me  from  the  carriage  my  Briton  would  apparently  es- 
cort me  to  the  crowded  rotunda  to  leave  me  in  form  at 
the  elevator;  but  I  pause  on  the  stair  to  prevent  this, 
and  turning  back  speak  to  him. 


60  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Now  go  home  at  once,"  I  say,  "like  a  good  boy 
and  change  your  clothes. " 

Something  in  my  tone  seems  to  please  him.  He 
murmurs  with  sentiment:  "Just  fancy!  Our  first 
whole  day  together  /"  Perhaps  something  in  my  eyes 
encourages  him ;  he  goes  on  eagerly:  "Give  me  some- 
thing to  remember  it  by." 

"A  souvenir,  like  your  boots  ?  "  I  laugh. 

"Yes,  those  orange  blossoms  you  carry  in  your 
hand."  For  I  still  have  with  me  the  branches  of 
orange  flowers  that  I  brought  from  the  San  Sebastian 
grove. 

"Take  them!"  His  hand  meets  mine  as  I  give 
them  to  him.  He  holds  both  my  fingers  and  the 
branches  of  white  feathery  blossoms,  very  tight. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  whispers,  "you  would  look 
awfully  fetching  with  a  wreath  of  those  on  your  head. " 

"Most  girls  do,"  I  say  nervously.  "Good-bye!" 
and  run  up  the  stairs. 

At  the  top  I  gaze  back.  He  seems  crestfallen.  I 
can't  help  it — I  throw  him  a  kiss.  Did  some  demon 
get  into  my  head  ?  It  will  be  all  over  the  hotel.  The 
strong-minded  Miss  Parkins  and  her  severe  friend  of 
the  railroad  are  looking  at  me. 

"  Did  you  ever  ?  "  remarks  Miss  Parkins  severely. 

"  No,  I  never!  "  says  the  other  lady. 

I  don't  ask  them  what  their  ambiguous  broken  sen- 
tences mean.  I  know !  The  hotel  will  ring  with  it. 

Then  I  think  of  Mrs.  Armitage.  She  must  have 
been  anxious  about  me.  Conscience  smites  me.  I  go 
at  once  to  her  parlor.  There  I  find  my  chaperone 
and,  as  unpropitious  fate  will  have  it,  Mirabelle  and 
Mr.  Ripley.  At  my  entry  Mrs.  Armitage  springs  up 
with  a  cry  of  relief. 

"I  have  been  inquiring  everywhere  for  you,"   she 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  6j 

flutters.  "  If  you  had  not  returned  soon,  Evie,  I 
should  have  consulted  the  police.  You  were  not  at 
breakfast,  you  were  not  at  lunch,  you  have  almost 
missed  dinner.  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"Pretty  nearly  everywhere,"  I  say,  and  give  them  a 
short  account  of  my  wanderings  about  the  suburbs  of 
St.  Augustine.  My  adventures  do  not  seem  to  please 
any  of  them. 

Mrs.  Armitage  says  in  a  shocked  tone:  ''My  dear, 
I  am  sorry  you  went  with  only  one  gentleman.  You 
know  I  don't  give  you  my  advice  often,  but  you  are  very 
dear  to  me.  As  your  poor  mother's  cousin  and  most 
intimate  friend,  I  must  tell  you  such  excursions  are 
unwise.  Besides,  you  know  so  very  little  about  Mr. 
Cranmere." 

"I  reckon  she  knows  a  good  deal  by  this  time," 
suggests  Mirabelle,  innocently. 

At  this  Mr.  Jonas  gives  a  snicker  of  rage,  and  asks 
sarcastically:  "Mirie,  you  wouldn't  have  dared  to  do 
such  a  thing? " 

"La!"  cries  Mirie,  who  is  as  spoiled  as  any  child  in 
the  world,  "I  expect  ma  would  have  spanked  me." 

This  is  a  blow  at  my  dignity.  It  insinuates  that  I 
need  correction.  But  I  crush  her.  "Doubtless  a 
child  like  you  would  have  been,"  I  say.  With  this,  I 
remark  to  Mrs.  Armitage  that  I  don't  feel  up  to  the 
general  dining-room,  and  will  take  a  quiet  dinner  in 
my  own  room. 

"You  are  not  ill,  I  hope.  Can't  I  do  anything  for 
you?  "  is  that  lady's  motherly  suggestion. 

"No,  I'm  tired,  that's  all." 

"And  he  won't  be  over  this  evening,"  remarks 
Mirabelle.  "  Bet  she  knows  he's  not  coming."  This 
idea  makes  Jonas  grind  his  teeth — that  is  my  one  con- 
solation. 

I  go  to  my  room  and  would  have  a  quiet  dinner  did 


62  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

not  Elise  discover  a  live  fiddler  in  the  folds  of  my  dress, 
and  go  into  French  convulsions  of  terror,  at  which  I 
burst  into  laughter. 

Having  eaten,  I  work  on  this  journal  of  mine;  but 
going  over  the  day's  scenes  seems  to  excite  me. 
I  get  to  having  rubbishy,  romantic,  school-girl  notions. 
After  this,  during  my  stay  in  Florida  I  shall  merely 
note  the  more  marked  happenings  pertaining  to  my 
history. 

My  adventures  seem  to  have  got  into  my  head. 
Shall  I  dream  to-night? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MISS   WEBSTER. 

St.  Augustine,  March  2d^  1894- 

I  did  dream . 

I  dreamt  of  the  fiddlers,  also  of  his  canning  me 
across  the  creek  in  his  arms.  He  wasn't  so  good  in 
my  dreams  as  in  reality,  for  when  my  cheek  was 
temptingly  near  his  mustache  he — he  kissed  me ;  and 
I — I  was  not  so  very  angry;  but  dreams  go  by 
contraries,  you  know.  I  should  have  been  indignant. 

I  go  down  to  breakfast  in  pretty  good  spirits.  The 
rest  of  our  party  are  here  dallying  with  oranges  and 
waiting  for  me. 

Mrs.  Armitage  has  something  on  her  mind.  She 
says:  "  Evie,  Mirabelle  and  myself  are  going  to 
Tampa  the  day  after  to-morrow.  We  leave  on  the 
early  train.  I  shall  take  you  with  me. " 

"Very  well,"  I  assent,  though  I  guess  the  reason. 
My  chaperone  has  become  anxious  for  me ;  she  fears 
the  British' Bugaboo  will  devour  the  heiress;  she  wishes 
to  remove  me  from  the  presence  of  the  gentleman  of 
the  quinine  powders.  This  projected  move  doesn't 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  63 

disttiib  me  as  much  as  she  thinks.  I  have  an  idea  he 
will  iiave  to  go  to  Tampa  shortly  to  investigate  the 
coca-pium,  at  least  he  has  hinted  it  to  me.  My 
acquiescence  rather  surprises  Mrs.  Armitage,  who  tells 
me  I  am  a  good  girl. 

In  some  way  to-day  is  not  exactly  like  yesterday.  The 
place  seems  to  me  dull.  Mr.  Ripley  tries  to  make 
himself  agreeable,  and  I  attempt  to  make  myself  endur- 
ing of  him;  but  find  it  impossible.  He  goes  sulkily 
away  to  billiards  or  bowling  or  some  other  masculine 
amusement. 

Left  alone  on  the  veranda  I  would  read  the  New 
York  Herald,  but  Mirabelle  comes  dancing  to  me. 

I  am  rather  surprised  at  this,  for  Miss  Armitage 
seldom  puts  herself  en  Evidence  unless  there  are  gentle- 
men about.  She  seats  herself  by  me  and  whispers: 
"  So  you  sent  poor  Jonas  away  again.  Why  don't  you 
make  him  happy — poor  Mr.  Ripley?" 

"Good  gracious!  what  are  you  talking  about, 
Mirie?"  I  say,  petulantly.  Then  I  add,  sarcastically: 
"Wouldn't  it  be  fine;  two  patent  medicines  joined  in 
holy  wedlock?  In  Manhattan  society  I  am  sometimes 
called  Miss  Pills.  Wedded  to  Mr.  Ripley,  I  should  be 
sneered  at  as  Mrs.  Liniment,  nde  Pills!  "  Whereupon  I 
laugh  bitterly,  visions  of  New  York  social  snubs  coming 
into  my  mind,  and  remark:  "  I  have  ambitions!  " 

Here  her  manner  astonishes  me.  The  child  says: 
"You're  a  deep  one!  You're  a  finesser,  that's  what 
you  are!" 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  I  ask,  angrily. 

"You  know  what  I  mean — Mr.  Cranmere,"  she  pouts. 

"  Well,  what  about  him?  " 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you  had  a  pleasant  time  yesterday, 
didn't  you?  Orange  groves,  eh?  Sand  beach — " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"Well,  you're  a  wonder,  that's  all!     Evie,  at  achooJ 


64  tHE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

I  never  thought  you  over  cute,  but  now  I  think  you're 
a  wonder!  Abelard  and  I  have  been  having  a  great 
talk  about  you. "  And  she  laughs  a  curious  laugh  of 
insinuation. 

''Stop  talking  nonsense!"  I  say.  "What  book  are 
you  reading?  "  for  she  has  a  red-bound  volume  in  her 
b;»nd. 

"Oh,  Debrett's  Peerage,"  she  answers  carelessly. 
"You  know  we're  going  to  Europe  soon,  and  I  think  it 
will  be  well  to  be  posted.  Haven't  you  read  it?  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  marry  an  earl  or  a  duke,  and  crush  out  your 
New  York  snubbers?  " 

"Pooh!"  I  reply,  "what  chance  is  there  of  my 
meeting  an  earl  or  a  duke  ? "  Then  I  say  bitterly  : 
"I  don't  think  my  father  or  Seraphia  will  ever  get 
away  from  business  to  take  me  to  Europe." 

"So  the  earl  or  duke  will  have  to  come  to  you," 
she  laughs.  "And  you  haven't  read  this  book  ?"  she 
asks,  looking  me  full  in  the  face  with  her  frank  blue 
eyes ;  next  cries :  ' '  Evie,  you're  the  biggest  goose  or  the 
sharpest  hawk  that  flies!  " 

Then  she  runs  away  laughing  like  a  child ;  but  I  think 
it  is  a  bitter  laugh,  and  wonder  what  infantile  idea  was 
in  her  blonde  head ;  but  then,  no  one  can  ever  tell  as 
they  look  into  Mirie's  frank  eyes  what  she  does  mean. 
Sometimes  she  talks  like  the  Oracle  of  Delphi  or 
Cumaean  sibyl,  sometimes  like  the  daughter  of  a  Chi- 
cago Beef  Trust  man — what  she  really  is. 

Pondering  on  this,  my  glance  rests  on  the  paper  in 
my  lap;  excitement  comes  to  me;  a  little  note  upon 
drugs  puts  rapture  into  my  soul.  It  is  quoted  from 
the  European  edition.  I  am  so  happy;  isn't  Mr. 
Cranmere  talented?  He  is  a  business  man. 

Armed  with  the  journal  I  glide  demurely  into  lunch, 
to  he,  like  a  Seminole,  in  ambush  for  proper  oppov* 
tiinity. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  6§ 

It  comes  very  soon ! 

Mr.  Ripley  dissecting  a  steak  gazes  upon  me  and 
says:  "I've  just  been  down  to  the  San  Marco  and 
nailed  your  quinine  fiend  again." 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Cranmere,"  I  return  blandly, 
"by  another  chloral  contract?"  Then  I  produce  the 
Herald^  and  read  for  Jonas's  benefit  the  following: 

"  DRUGS.  By  Commercial  Cable.  Owing  to  the  increased 
output  of  the  new  German  laboratories  controlled  by  Pink, 
White  &  Co.,  and  the  substitution  for  it  of  certain  coal-tar 
products  the  price  of  chloral  has  fallen  eighteen  pence  a  pound. 
These  quotations  have  been  followed  by  the  New  York  market, 
which  has  fallen  thirty-three  cents  to-day,  with  a  prospect  of 
still  lower  rates." 

A  smothered  titter  from  Mirie  and  a  smothered 
imprecation  from  Jonas  interrupt  me. 

Then  I  sneer:  "The  British  ignoramus,  coming  over 
here  to  do  American  business  men !" 

"Probably  Pink,  White  &  Co.  will  discharge  poor 
Mr.  Cranmere,"  suggests  Mirabelle  in  roguish  glee. 

But  Mr.  Ripley  doesn't  wait  for  any  more  such 
suggestions,  and  leaves  the  lunch  table,  though  I  don't 
think  his  appetite  is  entirely  appeased,  except  for 
chloral. 

Even  Mrs.  Armitage  cannot  refrain  from  a  smile, 
though  she  says  deprecatingly :  "Why  do  you 
girls  tease  Mr.  Ripley  ?  You  know,  Evie,  he's  devoted 
to  you." 

"Yes,"  I  remark  savagely,  "like  the  lion  is  to  the 
lamb." 

"  Which  is  the  lamb? "  titters  Mirie,  at  which  we  all 
laugh,  and  I  take  advantage  of  everybody's  good 
humor  to  ask  Mrs.  Armitage  to  tell  the  waiter  to 
place  an  additional  chair  at  our  table,  as  I  have  invited 
the  business  dupe  to  have  dinner  with  us. 

"Charming!"  cries  Mirabelle.  "Put  the  quinine 
fiend's  chair  alongside  of  mine.  Then  he'll  be  next 


66  THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

Jonas,  so  Ripley  can  do  him  on  another  drug  contract. " 

A  good  deal  of  the  afternoon  I  devote  to  arranging 
my  toilet  for  the  evening. 

As  I  am  about  to  descend  a  bell  boy  brings  to  my 
room  an  exquisite  bunch  of  violets,  and  scribbled  on  a 
card  is  the  first  note  from  him.  It  says:  "  In  return 
for  the  orange  blossom  souvenir." 

Their  color  suits  my  costume.  When  I  appear 
robed  for  dinner  I  am  wearing  violets — but  oh,  laws — 
Mirie! 

She  must  have  devoted  a  good  deal  of  her  afternoon 
to  her  toilet  also,  and  with  success.  Such  a  daring  yet 
simple  thing,  made  by  some  artist  in  children's  dresses 
I  should  suppose;  for  the  frock  is  cut,  as  Jonas 
chuckles  to  me,  "in  a  kind  of  nursery  abandon." 

It  is  a  mass  of  baby  effects  in  the  lightest  chiffon  and 
daintiest  laces;  from  it,  her  snowy  arms  and  shoulders 
gleam  in  infantile  simplicity. 

Above  all,  with  elfish  deftness,  Mirabelle  has  com- 
posed her  face  for  the  costume,  and  her  eyes  have  a 
childish,  trusting,  convent  look  in  them. 

But  the  whole  thing  is  marvelously  becoming,  and 
Miss  Armitage  would  look  a  girl  of  twelve  were  it  not 
for  her  exquisitely  proportioned  figure. 

Having  adopted  the  frock  this  evening,  Mirie  appar- 
ently intends  to  play  the  role  of  the  innocent,  in- 
genuous infant.  With  Mr.  Cranmere's  arrival  for  din- 
ner, in  his  usual  immaculate  evening  dress,  this  be- 
comes more  marked. 

'•''Dear  mamma  likes  me  to  be  a  child,  you  know," 
she  prattles  to  the  Englishman,  and  takes  her  mother's 
hand  with  affected  bashfulness  to  go  in  to  dinner. 

Here  the  chit  drops  into  such  a  chair  that  Mr.  Cran- 
mere  is  obliged  to  seat  himself  beside  her  and  facing 
me.  This  places  him  next  to  Jonas,  who  appar- 
ently doesn't  like  the  arrangement,  but  is  compelled 
by  very  shame  to  take  his  seat  near  the  Englishman. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  67 

This  crafty  arrangement  of  Miss  Mirabelle  forces  me 
to  Jonas,  and  that  gentleman  and  I  go  through  the 
meal  contiguously,  on  the  armed  neutrality  principle. 
This  gives  me  ample  opportunity  for  watching  the  in- 
nocent child  seated  opposite  to  me,  who  now  appar- 
ently has  thought  for  nothing  but  Mr.  Cranmere. 

She  follows  his  tales  of  foreign  countries,  her  frank 
blue  eyes  open  to  their  fullest  expanse,  fixed  upon  his. 
She  forgets  to  eat  sweetbreads,  a  dish  to  which  I  know 
the  little  gourmand  is  devoted,  in  the  intensity  of 
her  interest  in  his  narratives,  and  tells  him  so  very 
craftily. 

"Oh  heavens,  sweet  mamma!"  she  exclaims,  "they 
have  taken  away  my  sweetbread  and  I  haven't  eaten  a  bit 
of  it.  Oh,  Mr.  Cranmere,  don't  make  yourself  so  enter- 
taining. Please  let  me  eat  a  little — just  a  little!  Just 
give  a  poor  starving  child  a  chance  at  the  duck,  won't 
you.  Don't  make  me  laugh  any  more!  I  know  it  was 
awfully  funny  when  Maddox,  your  valet,  insisted  on 
your  wearing  full  dress  to  the  Queen  of  the  Congo- 
Bushmen's  fete,  and  they  insisted  upon  your  removing 
every  stitch  of  it  so  as  to  be  in  full  court  costume. 
Mamma,  don't  you  think  I'm  too  young  to  hear  such 
risque  stories !  "  Here  she  droops  her  eyes  bashfully, 
and  with  pretty  blushes  devotes  herself  to  her  breast  of 
canvas-back  for  about  two  minutes ;  then  looks  at  Cran- 
mere with  open  eyes,  claps  her  hands  and  cries,  in 
childish  glee :  "  Tell  us  another !  " 

Such  remarks  as  these,  interspersed  by  Cranmere's 
excited  "God  bless  my  souls,"  and  "I  say,  now,  draw 
it  mild,  won't  yous,"  and  "Thanks  awfullys!"  set  us 
all  laughing,  at  which  Mirie  looks  at  us  blushingly, 
then  puts  her  head  in  her  mother's  lap. 

But  she  plays  her  part  very  effectively,  and  looks  so 
charmingly  naive  and  innocent  while  she  is  doing  it, 
and  gets  in  such  fetching  strokes  under  the  guise  of  the 


68  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

playful  liberties  of  childhood,  that  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Cran- 
mere  will  be  caught  by  the  pretty  nymph. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  role  she  has  assumed,  our 
coffee  is  hardly  finished  when  Mirie  seizes  the  English- 
man's arm,  and  murmurs  blushingly,  "  Mr.  Cranmere 
and  I  are  going  to  the  veranda!  " 

"Will  you  let  me  smoke?  "  he  says,  grinning  at  her 
petite  affectation. 

"Oh,  I  love  cigars!  I'll  light  one  for  you.  Do 
you  know,  I  smoked  at  board — "  she  checks  herself 
here,  and  I  sneer  as  I  see  she  has  overplayed  her  part. 
Mr.  Cranmere  looks  at  her  astonished — then  disill~- 
sionized  as  he  follows  her  to  the  veranda. 

To  the  same  spot  Jonas  removes  himself  also  for 
his  cigar  and  we  walk  after  him — that  is,  Mrs.  Armitage 
does.  I  stroll  out  by  myself  and  sit  a  little  way  from 
the  party. 

Here  I  note  that  Mr.  Cranmere  is  devoting  most  of 
his  time  to  his  cigar  and  very  little  of  it  to  Mirie,  who 
•wilt  be  noticed.  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  dance?  "  she 
laughs,  for  the  band  is  playing  in  the  rotunda.  "  Isn't 
it  the  poetry  of  motion?  " 

Thereupon  she  takes  a  few  steps  before  him  in  childish 
glee.  But  he  not  seeming  to  notice  this  much,  she 
goes  to  romping  with  Abelard,  who,  dodging  waiters 
and  hotel  officials,  has  joined  his  mistress  on  the 
veranda. 

With  this  uncanny  creature  she  makes  some  very 
pretty  pictures,  grouping  herself  with  the  caniche 
as  she  caresses  him  and  ' '  Showing  her  lovely  ankles  like 
a  saint!  "  as  Miss  Parkins,  who  sits  near  me,  remarks 
spitefully.  For  Mirabelle's  modiste,  when  he  made  the 
baby  dress,  made  it  thoroughly  baby  and  did  not  lose 
his  chance  of  giving  display  to  her  wonderfully  pretty 
feet,  and — shall  I  say  it — yes,  I  will — legs!  " 

Noting  Cranmere's  defection,  that  gentleman  having 


THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  60 

taken  advantage  of  Mirie's  devotion  to  her  poodle  and 
drawn  his  chair  beside  mine,  she  suddenly  prattles: 
"  Oh,  mamma,  why  am  I  such  a  child?  "  And  fondles 
her  mother  who,  looking  helplessly  about,  v/Lines: 
"Good  heavens,  Mirie,  what  am  I  to  do  with  you?  " 

To  this  plaint  of  Mrs.  Armitage,  Cranmere  whispers 
in  my  ear:  "I  say,  if  she'd  take  my  advice  she'd  get  a 
tight  governess  for  that  ballet  baby,  that's  what  she'd 
do." 

Oh,  if  Mirabelle  could  hear  him!     "  Ballet  baby!  " 

"  I  wonder  if  we  couldn't  get  away  from  this  crowd," 
he  remarks  quietly. 

Of  this  I  see  no  chance ;  Mirie  has  her  eyes  on  us. 
I  know  to-night  she  will  haunt  Mr.  Cranmere. 

Fortunately,  Miss  Mirabelle's  own  arts  and  graces 
defeat  her  ends.  Two  chappy  young  gentlemen  from 
New  York  — Harold  Thomerson  and  Regie  Van 
Katcher — have  remarked  and  been  captivated  by  Mira- 
belle's affected  childhood  and  exquisite  poetry  of 
motion.  These  youths  saunter  up  to  me  and  beg  me  for 
introduction  to  the  object  of  their  desires,  which  I 
quickly  accord  to  them. 

At  any  other  time  Miss  Armitage  would  doubtless  be 
delighted  by  their  tribute  to  her  charms.  Now  she 
gives  me  a  savage  glance — but  I  know  Mr.  Cranmere 
and  I  are  free  from  her  this  evening. 

Messrs.  Thomerson  and  Van  Katcher  are  adolescent 
creatures  of  that  new  style  of  fashionable  cad  who  don't 
take  hints,  and  they  dog  Miss  Mirabelle  about  the 
whole  evening,  over  the  veranda,  around  the  patio — no 
matter  where  she  wanders  to  escape  them,  jollying  her 
up  if  she  affects  temper,  chaffing  her  delicately  about 
what  a  pretty  child  she  makes,  and  giving  a  display 
of  brilliant  "  up-to-date  "  wit. 

As  I  turn  away  I  hear  young  Van  Katcher  remark: 
"What  a  mamma's  darling  she  is!  I  shall  put  on  boy's 


76  IHE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

knickerbockers  to-morrow,  and  then  we'll  be  quite  a 
Fauntleroy  pair;  won't  we,  Miss  Mirie?" 

Mirabelle's  answer  I  do  not  catch,  but  I  note  as  she 
speaks  Mr.  Van  Katcher  looks  angry,  then  foolish, 
while  his  companion  goes  into  ecstasies  of  glee. 

However,  they  hold  to  Mirie  like  glue,  and  a  little 
later  in  the  evening  somehow  a  palm  tree  finds  us  sit- 
ting under  it  in  the  garden.  I  don't  mean  all  of  us — 
only  Mr.  Cranmere  and  myself. 

"Those  violets  are  awfully  good  of  you,  Miss  Evie," 
he  says,  looking  at  me  quite  rapturously.  "I  wonder 
how  it  is  you  always  contrive  to  look  so — " 

"So  unlike  the  black  beauties  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Congo's  court,"  I  laugh.  "That's  not  astonishing,  I 
am  a  Saxon." 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  exactly  that,  I  mean  those  vio- 
lets become  you;  awfully  good  of  you  to  wear  them." 

"Would  you  appreciate  an  Indian  gift? "  I  suggest. 

"Yes,  horn. you." 

He  looks  so  pleased  that  I  adorn  his  buttonhole  with 
a  few  of  the  violets  he  has  sent  me. 

Then  we  have  a  very  nice  hour  or  two — two,  I  think, 
for  the  clock  is  striking  eleven  as  he  rises  to  go,  and 
makes  one  of  his  stupid  British  bulls. 

He  says:  "I  expect  to  have  an  awfully  busy  day 
of  it  to-morrow — coca-plum  and  appointment  about  a 
sponge  contract  in  Key  West.  But  I  hope  to  turn  up 
some  time  in  the  evening." 

"Very  well,  come  when  you  please,"  I  return  in  my 
most  indifferent  voice.  I  am  not  altogether  satisfied 
with  being  made  second  to  business  at  a  watering 
place — at  anywhere! 

"  You — you  are  not  annoyed  with  me  ?  "  he  mutters. 

"Annoyed?  Why  should  I  be  annoyed  ?"  My  tone, 
though  questioning,  is  savage. 

"Well,  I — I  didn't  know — you  seemed  deuced  angry 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  71 

when  I  told  you  I  wouldn't  be  over  before  the  even- 
ing." 

"Angry?"  I  *im  a  statue  of  ice.  "ANGRY!  What 
do  you  mean? " 

"Well,  you — you  looked " 

"How  did  I  look?  I  insist  upon  knowing  how  I 
looked." 

' '  Very — very — deuced — decidedly — beautiful, "  he 
says,  stammeringly. 

But  I  am  not  mollified  by  even  this.  I  bid  him  good 
night  so  haughtily  that  he  looks  wounded. 

Something — I  know  not  what — has  got  into  me. 
The  day  hasn't  been  a  pleasant  one.  I  expect  I  was 
quite  cross  with  him. 

I  go  to  bed.     I  am  unhappy. 

St.  Augustine,  March  jd,  1894. 

To-day  hasn't  seemed  to  improve  things. 

In  the  morning  I  quarrel  with  Jonas,  which  is  nor- 
mal ;  I  dispute  with  Mrs.  Armitage,  which  is  abnormal 
and  shows  I  am  not  in  my  usual  angelic  temper.  I 
would  probably  wrangle  and  battle  with  Mirie,  only 
she  isn't  present. 

"I  believe  Mirabelle  is  holding  some  consultation 
with  her  dog,"  laughs  Mrs.  Armitage  to  me  as  we 
stand  on  the  veranda.  "  He's  a  curious  beast,"  she 
adds,  a  little  nervously  I  think,  "and  nearly  always 
sleepy  during  the  daytime,  which  isn't  astonishing,  as 
Mirie  often  keeps  the  poor  creature  up  all  night  talk- 
ing to  him." 

"What  are  they  discussing  this  morning?"  I  say 
laughingly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replies  the  mother.  "Their 
confabs  are  profound  secrets.  Mirie  doesn't  take  me 
into  her  confidence — the  confidence  she  gives  to  a 
cur,"  the  mother  adds,  bitterly. 


72  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

Chancing  to  run  upstairs  hurriedly  a  little  after  this 
I  come  upon  Mirabelle  and  her  familiar  and  hear  the 
last  few  words  of  their  pow-wow. 

"She's  a  jealous  wretch,"  whispers  Mirie,  "and 
jealousy  should  be  punished.  Say  she's  jealous, 
Abelard,  and  I'll  give  you  a  chocolate." 

At  this  the  beast  utters  a  sleepy,  yawning  yell, 

"That  settles  it,"  cries  Mirabelle,  "she's  a  goner!" 
and  turning  laughingly  she  confronts  me.  A  blush 
flies  over  her  fair  cheeks  for  an  instant;  then  she 
purrs:  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  know  what  we're  talking 
about,  cousin  Evie — Abelard  and  I?" 

"Pshaw!  I'm  not  up  in  the  dog  language,  Mirie,"  I 
reply  with  ladylike  dignity,  and  sweep  to  my  room. 

But  somehow,  as  I  think  of  it,  I  would  like  to  know 
what  she  was  saying  to  Abelard.  Did  she  mean  me 
by  the  "jealous  wretch?  " 

However  I  am  sure  Mirie's  not  in  a  very  good  tem- 
per for  I  hear  Abelard  giving  out  agonized  whimpers, 
punctuated  by  the  yells  of  torture  every  once  in  a 
while  during  this  afternoon,  which  I  devote  to  hurrying 
our  packing  for  Southern  Florida  and  scolding  Elise.  I 
have  no  Abelard. 

It  is  the  dinner  hour.  I  come  down  to  the  meal 
robed  in  smiles  and  a  new  dress  that  I  believe  is  effec- 
tive. He  said  he  would  come  over  in  the  evening. 
Mirie  is  gowned  very  effectively,  but  I  stare  at  her  as  I 
note  the  absolute  contrast  in  her  toilet  to  that  of  the 
night  before. 

She  now  appears  a  young  lady  of  extreme  and 
haughty  dignity.  Her  gown  has  a  mature  length  of 
skirt,  though  it  is  very  light,  pretty,  and  graceful — for 
all  this  wretch's  costumes  are  so  extraordinarily  effec- 
tive that  I  often  envy  her  her  dressmaker — still  she  has 
conjured  up  such  a  stare  of  hauteur,  such  stateliness  of 
bearing,  such  indifference  of  manner,  that  she  now 
looks  as  priggish  a  bud  as  I  have  ever  seen. 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  73 

Pshaw!  what  do  I  care  for  Mirabelle?  I  would  be 
happy,  but 

I  have  slipped  through  my  meal  as  far  as  the  desert, 
and  am  playing  with  a  bunch  of  grapes  when  Mr.  Rip- 
ley,  who  has  been  throwing  several  knowing  winks  on 
Mirabelle,  who  has  relaxed  her  hauteur  sufficiently  to 
reply  to  them  with  surreptitious  giggles,  says:  "I 
believe  you  showed  me  an  article  in  the  Herald  of 
great  interest  to  me  yesterday,  Miss  Bulgee.  Permit 
me  to  return  the  compliment.  You  like  newspaper 
reading.  How  does  this  paragraph  strike  you?  " 

With  this  he  passes  over  to  me  this  day's  edition 
of  the  Jacksonville  Statesman,  and  my  eyes  grow  misty 
as  I  read  in  its  St.  Augustine  social  column  as  follows : 

"The  young  English  traveller,  Mr.  Cranmere,  who  has  come 
to  this  city  to  investigate  the  manufacture  of  the  seeds  of  the 
coca-plum  into  the  new  and  celebrated  anaesthetic  cocaine,  and 
who  may  establish  by  this  a  novel  industry  in  Florida,  has  fallen 
into  pleasant  lines  in  St.  Augustine.  He  is  said  to  prefer  the 
beautiful  Miss  Webster's  attractions  to  his  chemical  investiga- 
tions, and  has  been  devoting  a  good  deal  of  his  time  to  showing 
that  exquisite  young  heiress  through  the  orange  groves  and 
suburbs  of  our  midwinter  watering  place." 

"  Isn't  Quinine  Fiend  a  deep  one?  "  chuckles  Jonas. 

"Oh,  that  beau-ti-ful  Miss  Webster!"  cries  Mira- 
belle, putting  a  dagger-like  emphasis  on  the  adjective. 
"Alicia  Webster!  Why,  she's  the  belle  of  the  San 
Marco. " 

I  wonder  if  they  know  how  they  hurt  me!  They 
shall  never  see  it  in  my  face ;  though  Mirie  looks  at  it 
as  if  eager  to  read  my  very  soul. 

I  finish  my  grapes  and  contrive  to  talk  carelessly 
with  Mrs.  Armitage ;  but  the  meal  over  I  go  away  by 
myself  to  a  quiet  corner  of  the  portico  and  get  to  think- 
ing. My  thoughts  frighten  me.  The  very  fact  that  J 
think  frightens  me.  What  do  I  care?  Nothing!  Of 
course  Mr.  Cranmere  has  a  right  to  pay  any  attentions 


74  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

he  thinks  proper  to  Miss  Webster,  the  beautiful  Miss 
Webster,  the  belle  of  the  San  Marco.  But  in  news- 
paper society  columns  every  young  woman  is  a  belle, 
every  girl  beautiful,  and  heiresses  as  thick  as  chorus 
ladies  in  an  opera.  The  modern  journalist  colors  his 
pictures  with  Ananias  paint.  I  presume  the  girl  is 
passable  in  appearance — I  hope  so  for  his  sake.  No,  I 
don't — I  hope  she's  ugly  as  a  Gorgon.  Miss  Webster's 
the  reason  he's  so  busy  on  his  coca-plum  investigations 
that  he  has  no  time  for  the  Ponce  de  Leon. 

Even  as  I  think  this  a  genial  "How  are  yer?"  is 
whispered  right  over  my  shoulder,  and  Mr.  Cranmere's 
hand  is  extended  for  mine. 

"Oh,  very  well,  thank  you,"  I  say,  and  return  his 
grasp  effusively.  He  at  least  shall  never  see  that  I 
have  read  of  Miss  Webster. 

Mirabelle  and  Jonas  some  distance  off  on  the  balcony 
have  noticed  our  meeting.  They  sha'n't  observe  that 
I  am  affected  by  Miss  Webster,  and  I  become  so  enthu- 
siastically cordial  that  Mr.  Cranmere  at  first  seems 
delighted. 

Then  perhaps  I  overdo  the  thing  a  little. 

He  remarks,  sitting  beside  me:  "Do  you  know 
that  you  seem  to  have  changed  in  the  last  day  or 
two  ? " 

"How?" 

"How?  Oh,  I  say,  you — you  don't  seem  to  me 
quite  as  genuine."  There  is  a  hesitation  in  his  man- 
ner, a  kind  of  apology  in  his  voice  as  he  mutters  this. 

Good  heavens!  Does  he  dare  to  think  that  I  have 
heard  of  Miss  Webster,  and  that  it  affects  my  manner 
to  him  ?  He  sha'n't  !  I'll  obliterate  Miss  Webster 
from  my  mind.  Better  still,  I'll  make  him  forget  there 
is  a  Miss  Webster  on  earth. 

So  I  call  into  play  every  art  of  fascination,  every 
charm  of  manner,  and  turn  them,  mental  and  physical, 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  75 

upon  him.  I  draw  my  rocking  chair  under  the  proper 
focus  of  the  electric  lights,  the  exact  glow  to  bring 
out  in  poetic  gleam  my  white  arms  and  ivory  shoulders. 
My  eyes  look  at  him  with  intention,  my  voice  is 
low  and  soft.  I  try  to  intoxicate  him.  I  believe  I 
rucceed. 

He  becomes  happy.  His  eyes  meet  mine  with  a 
radiance  that  is  not  quinine.  If  I  didn't  stay  him  he 
would  say  something  wild,  but  I  am  still  mistress  of 
myself  and  of  the  arts  of  society  enough  to  stop  him 
at  the  proper  moment — here  in  this  crowd,  with  Mirie 
and  Jonas  almost  within  earshot,  it  would  have  been 
too  embarrassing.  What  would  I  have  answered  him — 
I  can't  tell,  and  yet  I  know  I  am  not  flirting  with 
him. 

He  rises  to  go,  and  whispers:  I  say,  will  you  do 
me  a  great  favor? " 

"What?" 

"Come  down  and  see  Fort  Marion  with  me  to-moirow 
morning ?  You  know  I'm  going  away  the  day  after." 

He  is  going  away  the  day  after !  If  I  don't  accept 
his  invitation  perhaps  she  will.  I  seize  it!  "With 
pleasure,"  I  say. 

"Meet  me  at  8  o'clock  in  the  rotunda — the — ah — 
usual  place.  Will  you  have  breakfast  with  me? " 

If  I  don't  accept  his  invitation  to  breakfast  perhaps 
she  may.  "  I  will,"  I  answer,  very  cordially. 

"You  have  quite  jollied  me  up,"  he  laughs.  "I  m 
almost  through  with  my  investigation  of  the  coca-plum 
business  here.  I  can  have  a  morning  off  again." 

Is  he  a  hypocrite?  If  so  he  is  the  most  consummate 
one  I  ever  met,  and  has  the  strategy  of  old  Ovid.  He 
brings  up  Miss  Webster  himself, 

Just  as  he  is  bidding  me  good-bye  he  breaks  out  in 
his  disconnected  English  way  that  I  hate:  "By  the  by, 
I  say,  did  you  see  that — er — article  in  the  Jackson= 


76  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

ville  Statesman?  Rather  good  joke,  wasn't  it,  about 
Miss  Webster?  Curious  birds,  these  American  news- 
papers, don't  yer  know !  Very  glad  to  see  you  haven't 
been  cut  up  about  it." 

Glad  I  wasn't  cut  up  about  it!  Of  course  after 
that  I  can  never  mention  Miss  Webster's  name  to  him. 
I  would  pull  my  tongue  out  first. 

Good-night,"  he  adds,  seeing  I  do  not  answer. 
"Awfully  jolly  evening.  Something  to  tell  you  to-mor- 
row morning." 

He  squeezes  my  hand.  Oh,  goodness,  I  return  it! 
Then  he  goes  away,  apparently  very  jolly  and  very 
happy.  What  bad  taste  to  mention  her!  Almost  as 
bad  as  the  article  in  the  Statesman. 

What  is  he  going  to  tell  me  to-morrow  morning? 
To-morrow  morning  he  shall  forget  that  that  girl  at 
the  San  Marco  exists. 

I  watch  him  as  he  moves  along  the  veranda.  Pretty 
Mirabelle  in  her  toilet  de  grande  demoiselle  tries  to  catch 
his  attention,  but  he  does  not  see  her. 

Pooh!  It  is  not  Mirabelle  I  fear;  it  is — oh, 
heavens  and  earth,  that  I  should  fear  anybody !  What 
misery — what  humiliation! 

Blushing  at  my  own  thoughts,  I  rise  to  fly  from 
them ! 

I  go  up  to  my  room  to  write  this  in  my  memoirs.  I 
don't  know  how  to  spell  a  word.  I'll  look  it  up. 

The  dictionary  is  in  my  hand.  On  it  I  read 
"WEBSTER!" 

It  goes  to  the  other  end  of  the  room ! 

THEN  I  HAVE  A  NIGHT  OF  IT. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  77 

CHAPTER  V. 

'*!    HAVE    WRITTEN    TO    YER    GOVERNOR!" 

St.  Augustine,  March  #//?,  1894. 

I  AWAKE  from  horrid  dreams  to  astonish  Elise  again, 
by  making  her  dress  me  at  7 :3o.  I  am  probably 
.unusually  exigent  in  regard  to  my  toilet.  My  maid 
seems  stupid. 

And  yet  my  costume  is  simplicity  itself.  Just  a 
plain  white  muslin  gown,  spotless  as  mountain  snow; 
just  two  pink  blush  roses;  just  one  broad  azure  satin 
sash  round  my  lithe  waist;  just  two  of  the  prettiest  lit- 
tle piquant  French  bottines;  just  two  laced  and  broid- 
ered — but  I  am  becoming  as  diffuse  in  details  as  if  I 
were  a  woman's  dress  reformer — just  snowy  ruffled 
skirts  and  flounces;  just  silken  hosiery  to  match  my 
scarf;  just  a  sunhat  of  Leghorn,  soft,  big  and  ribboney 
and  a  sunshade  gigantic  enough  for  an  army  tent,  of 
white  gleaming  satin  and  draped  by  blue  satin  bow — 
and  I  go  down. 

The  thing  is  effective,  I  know.  As  I  enter  the 
rotunda  the  head  clerk,  who  is  just  getting  to  his  morn- 
ing's work  in  the  office,  emits  under  his  breath,  a  startled : 
"Gee  Whiz!"  and  he  sees  many  wondrously  beauti- 
ful toilets  in  a  St.  Augustine  season. 

Mr.  Cranmere  has  again  paid  me  the  compliment  of 
being  before  his  time.  He  is  waiting  for  me.  I  think 
my  get-up  takes  his  tongue  out  of  him.  He  simply 
looks  at  me  and  gasps:  "Thanks,  awfully!  " 

But  I  can  talk  for  two.  As  I  look  at  him  I  per- 
ceive before  me  a  triumph  over  the  girl  I  dreamed 
about.  "  Let's  run  along,"  I  say  lightly,  "to  break- 
fast." 

"Thanks,  awfully!" 


78  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Have  you  taken  your  quinine  this  morning?"  I 
laugh.  "You  seem  so  quiet." 

"Quiet?"  His  eyes  blaze  up  excitedly.  Then  he 
says,  determination  in  his  voice:  "If  I'd  known  you'd 
look  like  this  I'd  have  cut  down  my  ration.  You're — 
you're  so  exhilarating  and  breezy." 

By  this  time  we  are  in  the  Alcazar  restaurant.  Here 
I  find  as  pretty  a  breakfast  as  the  one  of  three  days 
ago,  only  there  is  a  beautiful  bunch  of  fresh  violets, 
the  dew  still  on  them,  upon  my  plate. 

For  some  reason  we  don't  talk  much,  which  is  curi- 
ous, as  we  don't  eat  much  either — at  least  I  don't. 

After  a  little  he  says:  "Let's  get  down  to  Fort 
Marion  and  catch  the  sea  breeze  before  the  sun  gets 
up." 

"No  fear  of  my  complexion,"  I  laugh,  and  shake 
out  my  sunshade  in  all  its  gleaming  white  satin  glory 
as  we  leave  the  Alcazar,  and  crossing  the  Plaza  stroll 
to  St.  George  Street  and  along  that  little,  nar- 
row, old-fashioned,  mediaeval  thoroughfare  through  the 
city  gate — the  last  relic  of  a  walled  town  in  the  United 
States — then  by  the  shell  road  past  the  San  Marco, 
to  Bay  Street  and  the  sea  wall.  Here,  crossing 
over  the  moat  to  the  barbican,  we  reach  another 
bridge,  which  takes  us  into  the  old  Fort  built  by  the 
Spanish  king  "Fernando  Sexto.'1  This  I  note  from  the 
inscription  over  the  gate  which  is  joined  with  the  arms 
of  Spain. 

However,  the  Spaniards  have  all  gone  away — years 
ago,  I  believe;  now  a  few  of  Uncle  Sam's  soldiers 
occupy  the  works,  one  of  whom  volunteers  as  our  guide 
and  shows  us  through  the  casemates. 

"I  say,  let's  go  up  to  the  platform  and  enjoy  the 
real  beauties  of  the  place — the  view  from  the  battery. 
That  sentry-box  up  there  in  the  corner  of  the  wall," 
Mr.  Cranmere  indicates  this  by  a  wave  of  his  hand, 
"if  the  coolest  place  in  St.  Augustine." 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  79 

"What  makes  you  guess  that?  "  I  question. 

"  Oh,  bless  you!  I  ran  all  over  the  place  yesterday," 
returns  Mr.  Cranmere;  "and  know  the  points  of  it 
pretty  well. " 

This  confession  makes  me  desperate.  She,  doubtless, 
ran  all  over  the  place  with  him.  However,  he  shall 
see  that  I  can  do  as  beautiful  ruin-climbing  as  the  Web- 
ster girl.  I've  got  exactly  the  costume  for  it,  and 
have  done  picnic  acrobatics  before.  Therefore,  with 
fairy  feet  I  skip  up  the  winding  incline  ahead  of  him  to 
reach  the  parapet  and  get  the  view,  that  we  have  really 
come  for. 

Right  in  front  of  me,  blue  as  cobalt,  is  Matanzas 
Inlet  dashing  straight  in  from  the  ocean  through  two 
narrow  sandspits  ;  beyond  the  Atlantic  tossing  in  lazy 
tropic  grandeur  goes  to  the  horizon,  unbroken  save  by 
the  distant  smoke  of  a  passing  New  Orleans  steamer. 
At  my  very  feet  washing  the  coquina  walls  of  the  bat- 
tery, the  rippling  waves  of  the  inlet  run  north  and  south 
between  wooded  beaches,  very  blue  save  where  the 
white  sand  in  the  shallows  makes  them  gleam  under  the 
brilliant  sun. 

As  I  cry  out  in  rapture  at  the  sight,  the  breeze  flying 
in  from  the  open  ocean  plays  about  me  and  tempers 
the  sun's  rays.  But  it  is  no  gentle  zephyr  that  dallies 
with  my  white  skirts  and  ruffles  my  laces,  and  nearly 
blows  me  away.  With  an  effort  I  brace  myself  against 
it  and  make,  as  I  fondly  hope,  a  pretty  picture  as  I 
stand  outlined  in  the  breeze  like  a  dainty  yacht  with 
white  sails  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and  flags,  signals  and 
pennons  streaming  to  the  gale.  That  is  what  I  do,  I 
stream  to  the  gale. 

Mr.  Cranmere  gazes  at  me  with  a  muttered  "  By 
Jove!" 

Is  it  of  admiration?  Did  she  look  as  well  when 
she  streamed  in  the  gale  yesterday? 


8o  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

Another  and  stronger  puff! 

With  a  little  scream  I  give  a  half  frightened  clutch 
at  my  skirts,  that  seem  as  if  they  were  blowing  from 
me.  Then  Boreas  seizes  upon  my  enormous  sun- 
shade and  figuratively  I  go  to  pieces.  My  beautiful 
white  satin  umbrella  is  just  departing  upon  a  balloon 
ascent;  my  hat  is  already  half  off  my  head,  my  tresses 
are  waving  in  the  wind,  I  myself  am  staggering  and 
reeling  from  the  force  of  the  summer  cyclone ;  when, 
with  another  muttered  "By  Jove!"  Mr.  Cranmere 
gathers  me  in — fluttering  muslin  skirts,  floating  blue 
ribbons  and  tossed-about  chestnut  hair.  With  one 
hand  he  seizes  upon  the  departing  sunshade,  the  other 
keeps  me  from  falling. 

"  I'll — I'll  do  very  well  now,'  I  gasp,  "  if  you'll  only 
take  care  of  that  awful  sunshade."  This  he  has,  with 
man's  promptitude,  immediately  furled. 

"You  ought  to  know  sufficient  about  yachting,"  he 
laughs,  "to  take  in  sail  in  a  gale  of  wind." 

"I'll — I'll  do  very  well  now,"  I  stammer  blushingly, 
for  his  arm  is  still  around  my  waist. 

"  I  don't  think  I  dare  trust  you,"  and  in  a  second  I 
find  myself  promptly  seated  in  the  sentry-box,  Mr. 
Cranmere  taking  post  near  my  feet. 

I  of  course  thank  him  for  his  timely  aid.  He  re- 
wards the  soldier  for  his  attention,  and  that  son  of 
Mars  leaves  us  to  ourselves. 

Our  conversation  after  a  little  becomes  personal. 
He  commences  to  talk  about  himself  and  England 
again.  "You  know,"  he  says,  <;  I've  been  in  awful 
hard  luck  for  the  past  three  or  four  years.  Things 
are  commencing  to  change  with  me." 

"Yes;  perhaps  you  may  get  an  advance  in  salary  on 
account  of  your  chloral  contracts  with  Mr.  Ripley.  Do 
you  know,  I'm  proud  of  you  for  that,"  I  answer. 
"Ripley  sneered  so,"  and  I  show  Mr.  Cranmere  the 
clipping  from  the  New  York  Herald. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  81 

"Yes,  but  that  wasn't  so  very  clever  of  me.  You 
see  I  was  better  posted  than  he  was,  that's  all.  But 
I'm  awful  glad  you  think  that  transaction  showed  busi- 
ness instinct.  That's  what  I've  been  trying  to  cultivate 
ever  since  I  gave  up  wearing  Her  Majesty's  uniform. 
It's  the  deuce  in  all  after  you've  acquired  the  sporting 
instinct,  to  get  the  business  instinct." 

"Is  there  a  difference  between  them?"  I  ask, 
attempting  philosophy.  "  They  are  both  for  gain. " 

"Yes,  but  one  tries  for  a  dead  sure  thing,  and  the 
other  is  willing  to  take  chances.  That's  the  difference 
between  a  pillar  of  commerce  and  a  bookmaker,"  he 
laughs,  then  adds  rather  proudly:  "You  know,  I  am 
commencing  to  have  business  instinct  very  strongly 
developed  in  me." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  ask,  opening  my  eyes. 

"I'm  commencing  to  think  si  paying  my  debts. 
Mind  you,  only  to  think  of  it.  I  have  been  calculating 
I  might  compromise  with  my  Shylocks  if  I  could  make 
up  my  mind  to  live  in  some  beastly,  out-of-the-way, 
unhealthy  place  well  located  for  gathering  in  tonics, 
roots  and  balsams,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  don't 
yer  know  ?  For  Nature  where  she  develops  disease, 
always  in  her  kindly  way  puts  plenty  of  specifics 
for  its  cure  just  at  hand.  In  the  valley  of  the 
Amazon,  where  you  have  no  end  of  fever  right  upon  the 
mountain  slopes,  she  has  planted  cinchona;  the  tree 
under  which  the  chloral  snake  raises  its  deadly  fangs, 
supports  the  twining  guaco  weed,  to  make  its  bite 
innoxious,  don't  yer  appreciate  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't  appreciate,"  I  say,  sharply. 

Has  he  brought  me  here  to  gabble  about  philosophy? 

"Yer  don't?"  he  mutters  disappointedly.  Then 
after  a  little  I  commenced  to  divine  the  drift  of  his 
remarks.  "I  wonder,"  he  says  dreamily,  "whether 


82  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

any  girl  would  love  a  fellow  enough  to  run  off  to  the 
Orinoco  or  the  Amazon  and  spend  three  or  four  years 
knocking  about  with  him  ? "  He  looks  pathetically  at 
me.  Does  he  forget  that  he  is  talking  to  the  heiress  of 
Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator,  who  can  support  a  husband 
where  and  how  she  pleases  ? 

"What's  the  matter  with  London  or  Paris?"  I 
laugh  in  the  light  slang  of  the  day;  then  go  on  more 
seriously:  "A  man  should  not  be  above  accepting 
some  little  favors  from  his  wife — and  that  I  presume  " — 
here  my  tone  is  distinctly  moral — "is  the  relationship 
you  hinted  at  in  regard  to  the  girl." 

Oh,  gracious  goodness  !  He  has  given  me  the  start 
of  my  life.  He  has  said  in  his  disconnected  British 
way:  "Yes,  that's  what  I  was  talking  about,  a  wife. 
— By  the  by,  last  night  I  wrote  to  your  governor,  don't 
yer  know  ?  " 

"You — you  wrote  to  my  father?"  I  am  deathly 
pale  as  I  stammer  this  out. 

"Certainly!  Your  father's  address  is  Abner  Joel 
Bulger,  479^  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York." 

"  O-o-oh  ! "  This  is  a  gasp  of  confusion  and  dismay. 
Blushes  fly  over  me  from  head  to  heel.  I  cannot  look 
him  in  the  face.  My  manner  last  night  must  have 
made  him  sure  of  me.  I  turn  my  head  away  and  think 
dizzily:  "What  will  papa — what  will  Seraphia  say?" 

Though  Mr.  Cranmere  says  nothing  I  am  sure  he  is 
gazing  at  me.  I  feel  his  eyes,  they  draw  mine  to 
them ;  falteringly,  coyly  and  bashfully  in  a  big  blush  I 
look  up. 

Our  eyes  meet,  then  mine  droop,  I  hang  my  head ; 
for  as  I  gaze,  his  face  changes  from  an  astonished  con- 
sternation I  cannot  understand,  to  joy,  triumph — love! 
Yes,  I  see  it  there,  LOVE  ! 

I  think  I  hear  him  murmur:   "  My  darling  !  " 

I  am  blushingly  playing  with  my  sunshade ;  in  a  half 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  83 

crazy  way  I  am  prodding  my  projecting  boot  with  its 
tip;  his  breath  fans  my  neck;  one  of  his  hands  has 
captured  mine,  the  other  is  near  my  waist — my  ears 
are  open  for  his  words  of  love,  my  lips  are  waiting  for 
betrothal  kisses. 

When  suddenly  I  give  the  start  of  frightened  maiden- 
hood !  "Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  it's  twelve  o'clock,  your 
quinine  time,"  comes  to  me  in  Maddox's  plebeian  but 
faithful  tones. 

"That's  right!  al-always  look  out  for  your — your 
master,"  I  say  with  a  sickly  smile. 

With  the  snarl  of  a  wild  beast,  George — that  is,  Mr. 
Cranmere — bolts  his  powder,  looking  the  unutterable 
at  his  valet.  "Maddox,"  he  says  savagely,  "one 
would  think  you  kept  a  Scotland-Yard-eye  on  me.  How 
the  deuce  did  you  know  I  was  here  ? " 

"Well — I — I  only  guessed  it,  sir.  I  knew  you  were 
down  here  yesterday;  but  I  didn't  know  you  were 
accompanied  this  time,  sir.  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  and 
Maddox,  unable  to  stand  his  master's  glaring  eyes, 
retires  down  the  stairs  as  I  rise  to  go. 

The  valet  didn't  know  his  master  was  accompanied 
this  time?  Who  acccompanied  him  the  other  time  ? 

My  voice  trembles  a  little  as  I  falter:  "Twelve 
o'clock !  It's  time  for  me  to  return  to  the  Ponce  de 
Leon  to  lunch,"  and  pass  out  of  the  old  coquina  watch- 
tower. 

"Yer — yer  won't  stay  ? "  he  asks,  reproachfully. 

"I  can't.  Mrs.  Armitage  will  be  expecting  me."  I 
am  at  the  top  of  the  incline  now. 

"Yer — yer  not  angry,  I  hope  ? "  he  stammers. 

"I?  With  whom?"  Though  inquiring,  my  to.ies 
indicate  temper. 

"Why,  with  Maddox,  don't  yer  know  ?  He's  so 
beastly  unexpected ! " 

My  answer  to  this  is  to  sternly  step  down  the 
incline. 


84  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Before  I  reach  the  lower  casemates  he  is  by  my  side, 
whispering:  "Then  I'll  go  with  you.  You  won't  deny 
me  this  ?  You — you  know,"  he  adds  sadly  as  we  stride 
over  the  enceinte,  "that  I  get  out  of  St.  Augustine  to- 
morrow." 

"Leave  here  ?  "  Despite  myself  my  tone  is  anxious 
now. 

"Yes,  for  Southern  Florida,  Tampa,, and  all  that,  on 
the  coca-plum  and  sponge  business.  Go  by  the  early 
train.  I  thought  I  told  you  that  two  days  ago." 

"Why,  that's  the  train  I  leave  by!"  I  say,  excitedly. 

"You?" 

"Yes.  Mrs.  Armitage  takes  Mirabelle  and  myself 
to  Tampa  to-morrow  morning — same  train."  As  I 
speak  I  take  a  snap-shot  at  his  face.  Rapture  is  on  it. 
I  shall  call  him  George  from  now  on — in  my  mind. 

"This  is  awfully  jolly,"  he  laughs.  "Awfully  jolly." 
Tampa  is  no  end  of  fun — orange  groves,  sandy  beaches, 
cocoanuts  and  sentiment,  and  all  that." 

Our  eyes  meet  again.  Yes,  there  is  sentiment  on 
George's  face — there  might  be  passion  were  this  the 
place  to  show  it. 

Even  as  I  gaze  blushingly  on  him  a  group  of  tourists 
and  visitors  are  coming  into  the  Fort,  one,  a  dapper 
young  man  with  snappy  eyes  and  blonde  mustache 
whose  face  seems  familiar  to  me.  He  looks  at  me 
knowingly,  then  at  Mr.  Cranmere,  and  a  smile  goes 
over  his  face.  Where  have  I  met  him  ?  As  he  passes 
I  follow  him  with  my  eyes.  He  is  taking  out  a  note- 
book, and  this  gives  me  a  clue.  I  remember,  he  is  the 
little  reporter  of  the  Jacksonville  paper  who,  Mirie  says, 
will  do  on  a  quiet  afternoon. 

Just  here  I  forget  the  newspaper  man.  I  catch  a 
glimpse  of  George's  face — I  suppose  I  like  to  look  at  it 
now — and  the  expression  on  it  astonishes  me.  He  is 
evidently  thinking  very  hard.  There  is  an  amused 


TUB  S.ADIF.S'  JUGGERNAUT.  £5 

embarrassment  on  it;  once  he  laughs  to  himself  a  little, 
though  in  a  sheepish,  hang-dog  kind  of  way. 

"You  seem  amused,"  I  remark. 

"No-a — not  exactly,"  he  stammers,  then  his  face 
grows  serious  and  embarrassed.  There's  something 
on  his  mind. 

"I — I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  says,  then  suddenly 
checks  himself,  and  in  his  irrelevant,  disjointed  manner, 
remarks:  "Awfully  jolly  day,  this!  " 

"  Awfully  jolly,"  I  return. 

We  are  passing  the  ample  balconies  of  the  San  Marco. 
Does  he  fear  that  she  will  see  him  with  me?  Then  a 
sudden  flash  of  triumph  goes  through  me.  George's 
face  has  told  me  that  he  loves  me.  He  has  written  to 
my  father.  Poor  Miss  Webster!  If  she  but  knew! 
The  thought  of  her  distress,  I  am  ashamed  to  say, 
makes  me  happy.  George's  manner  makes  me  happier 
as  we  go  on.  It  grows  easier,  and  his  conversation 
apparently  is  coming  to  his  letter  again. 

He  suggests:  "  You  know  very  little  about  me,  Miss 
Evie.  You  see,  we've  only  had  five  days  of  it  together. 
You  don't  even  know  my  name." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  do,"  I  reply;  "  George  R.  M.  B.  Cran- 
mere." 

"You  haven't  half  guessed  it,"  he  says,  laughingly. 
"It's  George  Ramilles  Malplaquet  Busaco  Cranmere." 

"Oh,  goodness!"  I  cry.  "Where  did  you  get  all 
that? " 

"  It's  after  the  names  of  battles  my  ancestors  fought 
in.  There's  two  or  three  more  of  them  tacked  on  to 
me — Gibraltar  and  Waterloo,  I  believe,  but  no  visiting 
card  will  contain  them  all,  so  I've  dropped  them  from 
the  list.  If  you  want  to  be  quite  sure  about  it,  you'll 
have  to  hunt  me  up  in  Burke,  don't  yer  know?  " 

He's  in  "Burke!"  That  means  at  least  Landed 
Gentry.  Delightful !  I  hope  he's  put  that  in  his  letter 
to  papa. 


86  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Somehow  or  other  that  epistle  seems  to  be  in  his  mind 
also.  Twice  he  approaches  the  subject,  but  we're  in 
the  Alameda  now,  and  the  crowd  is  too  great  for  confi- 
dences. 

"  You  know  er — that — that  letter,"  he  says,  then  as 
the  roses  fly  up  to  my  cheeks  he  grows  embarrassed, 
and  mutters:  "  Quite  a  crowd  here,  don't  yer  know?  " 

"Yes,"  I  answer.  "Quite  a  crowd.  You  were 
going  to  say  something?  " 

"  Y-e-s,"  he  mumbles  hesitatingly,  but  here  a  sudden 
determination  seems  to  come  to  him ;  he  says  sharply, 
"  That  will  rest  until  to-morrow  on  the  train.  Yer 
see,  we'll  be  pretty  well  together  on  the  train. " 

"Won't  you  come  in  to  lunch?"  I  remark,  for  we 
are  now  at  the  entrance  of  the  Ponce  de  Leon. 

"I  can't,"  he  answers;  "I've  no  end  of  busi- 
ness. I've  got  three  or  four  letters  to  write,  an  exper- 
iment in  the  coca-plum  to  finish ;  I've  got  a  man  to 
see  about  Key  West  sponges.  I'll — " 

"You'll  come  in  this  evening?" 

"  Yes,  over  in  the  evening,"  he  says,  cheerily.  "But 
it'll  be  late.  You  know  I'm  trying  to  be  a  business 
man  now.  You  won't  think  any  the  worse  of  me  for 
that,  will  you?"  His  eyes  meet  mine  frankly  but 
pleadingly. 

"No,  nor  my  father,  either,"  I  say.  He  has  my 
hand  in  his.  I  feel  a  sudden  thrill  come  through  him. 
He  turns  his  head,  then  looks  at  me  in  an  embarrassed 
way  again,  and  mumbles:  "Thanks,  awfully!  Good- 
bye ! "  and  strides  away. 

I  look  after  him,  wondering  what  he  has  upon  his 
mind  that  embarrasses  him.  Does  he  love  me?  Yes; 
his  eyes  showed  that.  Oh,  if  he  doesn't,  what  will  he 
think  of  my  coy  blushes,  my  embarrassed  manner? 
But  he  does!  I  know  in  my  heart  George  loves  me, 
and  am  happy. 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  87 

As  I  stroll  through  the  courtyard  the  very  fountains 
seem  to  ripple  with  joy — the  very  breeze  in  the  trees 
seems  to  sing  happiness. 

Here  Mirie  meets  me,  kisses  me,  puts  her  arm  round 
my  waist,  and  says,  in  her  frank,  childish  manner: 
"  Did  you  catch  him?  "  Then  as  she  looks  in  my  face, 
discerning  Mirabelle  thinks  she  sees  answer  to  her 
question,  and  ejaculates:  "You  did!  you  did!  You 
weren't  content  with  poor  Jonas.  You're  the  greedi- 
est girl  I  ever  saw — and  men  so  scarce  here !  "  With 
this  she  goes  away  pouting  and  angry  and  a  very  curi- 
ous look  on  her  face,  because  I  can't  help  laughing  at 
her.  Why  shouldn't  I  laugh? 

I  go  up  to  my  room  and  hurry  Elise  in  the  packing. 
We  have  a  quiet  lunch  (for  Jonas  is  away  spending  the 
day  on  a  yacht)  unbroken  save  for  one  little  ripple. 

Mrs.  Armitage  looks  at  me  severely  and  says:  "You 
have  been  away  again,  Evie,  with  that  Englishman." 

"Yes,  we  did  Fort  Marion,"  I  answer,  airily. 

"I  am  sorry.  I  think  it  unwise,  you  know  so  little 
about  him.  Fortunately  we  leave  to-morrow  morning. " 

"Yes,"  chirrups  Mirie,  "he  leaves  to-morrow  morn- 
ing also.  I  was  down  in  the  ticket  office  and  saw  his 
name  on  a  section  in  our  car.  My  goodness,  mamma, 
you'll  have  your  hands  full  in  Tampa." 

Neither  of  us  reply  to  Mirabelle's  wit,  though  my 
chaperone  looks  concerned.  As  for  me,  I  am  happy, 
even  if  Mrs.  Armitage  doesn't  approve.  What  girl 
cares  for  a  chaperone  in  such  a  case  as  this? 

The  afternoon  passes  dreamily  to  me.  I  read  a 
book  of  sentiment.  My  eyes  grow  misty  with  happi- 
ness as  I  think  of  Southern  Florida,  cocoanut  groves, 
eternal  sunshine,  and — George! 

The  time  draws  along.  Arrayed  for  his  delight  I 
come  into  the  glittering  dining-room  and  dinner 
passes.  Then  I  ghat  with  two  or  three  ladies  on  the 


88  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

porch,  waiting  for  him.  Nine  o'clock — he  doesn't 
come. 

Ten  o'clock — he  strides  in.  I  see  him ;  the  electric 
lights  seem  to  grow  brighter.  George's  hand  clasps 
mine,  George's  eyes  speak  unto  mine. 

"I've  torn  myself  away  for  five  minutes,  you 
know,  from  business,  just  to  say  good-night,"  he  says 
happily.  His  eyes  are  blazing  into  mine  like  Romeo's 
in  the  balcony  scene.  My  glance  droops  before  his. 

"You  can't  stay?" 

"No,  I've  got  a  cable  to  send  to  Pink,  White  &  Co. 
I've  just  had  an  answer  from  them  about  the  chloral 
contract.  I  say,  I  want  to  make  a  little  money; 
I'm  awfully  anxious  to  get  ahead  in  the  world,  now 
more  than  ever.  You  see  I  may  have  somebody  else 
to  take  care  of,  don't  yer  know  ? "  My  hand  is  still  in 
his — he  is  squeezing  it — so  tenderly. 

There  are  too  many  people  about.  Mirie  has  seen 
him  and  is  approaching.  I  know  in  her  childless,  art- 
less way  she  will  interrupt  our  interview.  Then  I  utter 
suddenly,  heedlessly,  something  for  which  I  would 
have  bitten  my  tongue  out  the  next  instant:  "You 
put  all  these  things  in  your  letter  to  my  father  ? " 

Good  heavens!  what  an  effect  have  I  produced  on 
him.  At  my  words  he  blushes  up  to  the  eyes,  be- 
comes embarrassed,  stammers,  then  suddenly  says: 
"Good-night,  I — I'll  explain  about  that  letter  to- 
morrow morning,  don't  yer  know,  on  the  train.  You 
must  forgive  me  then — I — I'll  tell  you  everything" 
And  wringing  my  hand  in  an  apologetic  kind  of  way 
he  whispers:  "To-morrow!"  There  is  passion  in 
his  voice,  but  wonderful  embarrassment. 

I  am  too  dazed  to  speak  as  he  goes  away  leaving 
me  wondering. 

Mirie  comes  up  and  prattles:  "He  didn't  stay 
long,  did  he  ?  If  you'd  let  him  take  you  to  a  palm  tree 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  89 

in  tf*«  garden  he  might  have  lingered  longer,  mightn't 
he  ?  Evie,  you  try  to  be  too  innocent.  That  isn't  the 
way.  Be  innocent  and  up  to  snuff  also.  Abelard  and 
I  will  hold  consultation  on  you  to-night. " 

"  Don't  you  dare  talk  to  your  hideous  beast  about 
me !  "  I  cry  in  rage. 

After  that  I  don't  pay  much  attention  to  her.  I  am 
thinking  of  George.  I  go  upstairs.  What  did  he 
mean  by  explaining  to-morrow  ?  Was  it  about  Miss — ? 
Pshaw!  nonsense!  Can't  I  trust  him  until  to-morrow 
morning  !  I  will! 

I  go  to  bed  and  dream  happy  dreams. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FLYING    NORTHWARD. 

March  5th,  1894. 

I  AM  up  with  the  lark;  I  hurry  Elise,  I  run  down  to 
breakfast.  I  must  not  miss  the  train,  he  will  be  wait- 
ing for  me. 

I  am  down  before  any  one.  Elise  thinks  I  am  an 
idiot.  We've  an  hour  to  spare. 

As  I  wait  for  my  breakfast  I  look  over  the  Jackson- 
ville Statesman,  which  has  been  placed  by  some  careful 
friend  beside  my  plate.  The  local  news  done,  I  turn 
carelessly  to  the  society  column,  reported  by  telegraph 
from  St.  Augustine.  Perhaps  I  shall  see  her  name, 
poor  girl.  She  is  not  going  with  him — I  am ! 

I  do !  Oh,  God  of  mercy,  I  do !  I  can't  read — yet  I 
decipher  these  lines  that  brand  themselves  into  my 
brain : 

"We  are  happy  to  announce  the  engagement  of  Miss 
Webster,  the  beautiful  heiress,  to  the  dashing  young  English 


90  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

traveller  and  cocaine  experimenter,  Mr.  George  R.  M.  B.  Cran« 
mere.  It  has  not  yet  been  formally  announced,  but  facts  look 
that  way.  The  beautiful  heiress  goes  to-morrow,  we  under- 
stand, to  Southern  Florida,  and  Mr.  Cranmere  will  be  of  the 
party.  How  they  will  enjoy  poetic  Tampa!  Mr.  Cranmere  has 
been  very  attentive.  They  did  the  orange  suburbs  one  day 
and,  we  believe,  Fort  Marion  together  the  other  day.  Miss 
Webster  is  a  great  heiress.  Ring  the  wedding  bells! 

RING  THE  WEDDING  BELLS  !  They  ring  in  my  ears  till 
the  room  swims  round  me.  /That's  what  he  meant  by 
"I'll  explain  to-morrow!"  That's  why  he  had  that 
hang-dog  expression  as  we  passed  the  San  Marco.  He 
feared  she  would  see  him ! 

After  a  little  I  contrive  to  think — if  spasms  of 
wounded  self-love  and  stricken  pride  are  thoughts.  I 
shall  not  go  to  Southern  Florida;  that  humiliation  I 
couldn't  bear. 

As  this  comes  to  me,  Mrs.  Armitage  and  Mirabelle 
sit  down  beside  me ;  both  are  in  travelling  dress  and  ready 
for  the  train.  I  look  at  them  in  a  dazed,  dizzy  way, 
and  see  Mirie  holds  in  her  hand  a  copy  of  that  cruel 
paper.  They  both  gaze  at  me,  the  mother  sympatheti- 
cally; the  daughter — I  can't  tell  what  is  in  her  face. 
She  looks  half  delighted,  half  frightened. 

"I — I  have  changed  my  mind,  Mrs.  Armitage,"  I 
falter,  "  I  can't  go  to  Southern  Florida  this  morning 
with  you." 

Here  my  chaperone  in  her  motherly  way  rescues  me 
from  some  of  my  embarrassment.  She  says:  "  Evie, 
I  think  under  the  circumstances  you  are  wise.  I  can't 
postpone  my  trip,  having  made  all  my  arrangements. 
What  do  you  think  best  to  do? " 

"  I — I'm  going  to  New  York  by  the  afternoon  train," 
I  answer. 

"Can  I  help  you  in  any  of  your  arrangements?  I 
have  yet  a  little  time." 

"No,  I  have  Elise,"  I  reply. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  91 

Then  she  gets  up,  gives  me  a  motherly  kiss  and 
whispers:  "lam  sorry  for  you!  Don't  think  another 
thought  about  him;  I  read  the  article  this  morning. 
The  miserable  creature !  " 

"Pooh!  that's  nothing !"  I  reply,  pride  coming  to 
my  aid;  then  raise  my  voice  for  the  benefit  of  any 
open  ears  at  the  surrounding  tables:  "  I  have  received 
a  telegram  from  papa  which  makes  it  necessary  for  me 
to  return  North  immediately." 

With  this,  bidding  her  good-bye,  I  hurry  off  in  search 
of  Elise,  who  has  got  the  trunks  downstairs.  I  order 
them  upstairs  again.  Elise  thinks  I  am  crazy. 

"We're  not  going,"  I  say.  "At  least,  not  this 
morning!  We  will  probably  return  to  New  York," 
and  pay  no  attention  to  her  excited  French  jabbering. 

Twice  I  have  a  desire  to  throw  my  pride  away ;  twice 
I  fight  myself  to  resolution.  Perhaps  at  the  very  last 
I  should  change  my  mind  again  and  go  to  that  train, 
but  Mirie  appears  at  the  door  of  my  room,  petting  her 
caniche. 

"  I've  just  come  to  kiss  you  good-bye,"  she  prattles. 
"  I'm  glad  you're  not  going  with  us.  It  would  be  a 
dreadful  mistake."  She  still  holds  the  Jacksonville 
Statesman  in  her  hand. 

"You've  seen  this — this  Miss  Webster?"  I  say,  curi- 
osity getting  the  better  of  my  pride  for  one  minute. 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  You  think  she's  engaged  to  him?  " 

"Well,  if  blushes  mean  anything,  you  would  have 
thought  she  was  when  I  hinted  it  to  her  last  night. " 

"O-o-oh!"  I  can't  repress  the  sigh.  Then  I  mur- 
mur: "  She  is  very  beautiful,  I  suppose?  " 

"Well,  she  thinks  she  beats  the  earth!"  remarks 
Mirabelle.  "She's  got  a  pretty  good  opinion  of  her- 
self, and  then,  she's  going  to  have  such  pots  of  money. 
Oh!  I  hope  I  haven't  wounded  you!  Abelard  and  I 


92  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

must  be  going.     Don't  you  want  to  kiss  poor  Abelard?  " 

But  I  am  too  overcome  to  reply  to  this.  I  bid 
Mirabelle  God-speed  and  lock  myself  in  my  room.  Pots 
of  money!  The  miserable  fortune  hunter!  Can  I  have 
been  mistaken  in  what  he  hinted  by  his  deluding, 
foolish,  disjointed  suggestion  of  a  letter  to  my  father? 
Have  I  made  some  fearful  blunder? 

Great  heavens!  There  is  a  clanging  in  my  ears.  It 
is  the  bell  of  the  outgoing  train  for  Southern  Florida. 
GEORGE  HAS  GONE  AWAY! 

They  sha'n't  see  that  I  care.  Towel  and  cold  water, 
and  I  go  down  to  show  everybody  in  the  hotel  that  Mr. 
George  Ramilles  Malplaquet  Busaco  Cranmere  has  been 
to  me  but  a  pour  passer  le  temps. 

Some  of  them  like  to  torture  me.  Miss  Parkins  and 
friend  get  near  me  on  the  veranda,  where  I  must  over- 
hear them.  "  Poor  girl!  "  says  that  spiteful  spinster, 
"she  didn't  catch  him,  after  all.  He  went  this  morn- 
ing with  his  fiancee  to  Tampa.  Have  you  seen  the 
beautiful  Miss  Webster?" 

"Never,"  replies  her  chum.  "But  I  don't  think 
she'd  have  to  be  a  Venus  to  give  points  to  the  Bulger 
Exterminator  girl." 

Then  Jonas  comes  about  and  tries  to  be  civil — hoping, 
perchance,  to  catch  my  heart  on  the  rebound,  but  once 
or  twice  I  hear  him  struggling  with  a  suppressed  chuckle. 

These  things  make  a  great  devil  of  pride  rise  up  in 
me.  Early  in  the  afternoon  a  letter  postmarked 
Palatka  is  brought  me  by  the  bell  boy.  I've  seen 
enough  of  his  writing  to  know  it. 

Then  the  devil  does  its  work.  In  a  flash  I  seize  it, 
tear  it  into  a  hundred  pieces,  throw  it  out  of  my  window, 
and  the  four  winds  of  heaven  blow  it  about  the  shrub- 
bery of  the  Ponce  de  Leon  gardens.  Yes,  that's  right! 
I  might  have  been  weak  and  womanly  and  read  it!  Oh, 
Heavens!  What  was  in  it?  I  believe  I'm  half  crazy. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  93 

Oh,  lion-hearted  Seraphia,  if  you  were  only  here  to 
comfort  your  poor  niece — 

I  must  get  back  to  New  York  to  you — to  papa — 

I  am  writing  this  crazy  outburst  on  the  train  as  it 
flies  to  the  North — away  from  blue  skies,  bright  sun- 
shine and  the  perfume  of  the  orange  flowers.  How 
I  hate  their  scent.  They  remind  me  of  the  man  who 
slighted  me  for  Miss  Webster. 

New  York,  March  6th. 

I  am  writing  this  with  the  arrow  in  my  heart.  Papa 
has  just  placed  it  there;  on  the  ferryboat  crossing  over 
from  Jersey  City. 

He  and  Seraphia  meet  me  on  the  arrival  of  the 
Florida  train,  and  escort  me  to  the  boat.  Elise  and  a 
footman  look  after  my  wraps  and  baggage.  To  aunt 
and  father  I  try  to  be  bright,  buoyant  and  airy — like 
my  old  self;  but  it  doesn't  succeed  with  Seraphia. 
Kind  old  Seraphia.  Noble  old  Seraphia.  Every  plant 
of  her  number  four  boots  means  business. 

In  the  lights  of  the  ferryboat  papa  looks  at  me  and 
remarks,  tenderly:  "You  should  have  stayed  longer 
down  South;  you  don't  look  rested  enough,  my  little 
daughter." 

Seraphia  says :  "Abner,  she  shouldn't  have  gone! 
Her  eyes  blaze  as  if  she  had  an  electric  light  inside 
her.  That  child  has  run  foul  of  a  dynamo  in  Florida." 

"Pooh!  nonsense!"  I  ejaculate.  "Just  give  me 
carte  blanche  at  the  dressmaker's,  papa,  and  see  the 
dynamo  run  when  Lent  is  over." 

"Lrather  imagine  I  can  do  that,''  says  generous  old 
papa.  "You  see,  Evie,  you've  earned  your  board  down 
South."  And  he  pats  me  on  the  cheek. 

"Earned  her  board!"  screams  my  aunt.  "Are 
you  out  of  your  head,  Abner?  How?" 

"Why  a  few  days  ago  I  got  a  letter  from  a  travel- 
ling agent  of  Pink,  White  &  Co.,  of  London.  He 


94  THE     LADIES      JUGGERNAUT. 

said  through  your  kindly  introduction  he  had  made  a 
contract  with  Mr.  Ripley  for  chloral.  He  wrote  offer- 
ing me,  on  behalf  of  his  firm,  quinine  two  cents  an 
ounce  under  the  market." 

"Don't  deal  with  him,"  I  cry  out.  "He  swindled 
poor  Mr.  Ripley.  He  sold  him  chloral  ten  cents  below 
the  market,  but  two  days  after  chloral  dropped  thirty 
cents  a  pound." 

" Too  late, "  answered  papa.  "I  made  a  contract 
for  $50,000  worth.  Pink,  White  &  Co.  are,  I  learn,  a 
perfectly  reliable  London  house." 

"Then,  papa,  you  are  done!" 

"  Humph!  don't  talk  nonsense,  Evie,"  says  Seraphia. 
"  I  read  that  contract  and  I  know  we  are  not  done. 
Quinine  doesn't  fluctuate  like  chloral.  We've  saved 
several  thousands  of  dollars. " 

To  this  I  do  not  reply.  I  am  choking  with  rage  and 
mortification. 

At  home,  on  Fifth  Avenue,  I  go  up  to  my  dear  old 
room  and  there  I  give  way. 

Done!  all  of  us  are  done!  Poor  Jonas  on  his  chloral 
contract,  father  on  his  quinine,  and  I  done  most  of  all 
— on  my  heart!  Misery!  what  will  he  think  of  my  coy 
blushes,  my  bashful  diffidence,  my  looks  of  love,  on  a 
business  letter  to  "yer  governor,  don't  yer  know?" 

Oh,  his  miserable,  haphazard,  disjointed  British  Eng- 
lish !  Oh  the  humiliation !  Oh,  George ! — George ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    IMPORTED    ANIMAL. 

Narragansett  Pier^  August  ist,  1894. 
TO-MORROW  will  be  my  birthday. 
I  had  intended  to  write  no  more  diaries  after  the 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  95 

disastrous  ending  chronicled  in  my  last.  On  my  return 
from  Florida  I  was  ennuied  for  a  week.  Wounded 
pride  hurts  as  much  as  wounded  heart  to  a  girl  of 
spirit. 

I  would  have  been  really  sick,  but  I  was  afraid  Sera- 
phia  might  suspect ;  and  the  whole  thing  ended  in  a 
burst  of  laughter. 

Our  former  physician,  dear  old  Dr.  Plumpcheck, 
who  has  attended  us  for  years,  suddenly  prescribed  for 
me  "Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator,"  and  that  ended  in 
papa's  quarreling  with  him  and  my  getting  well. 

As  I  lay  in  bed  I  could  hear  papa  and  auntie  going 
on  about  it  outside.  "Curse  him,"  cries  papa,  "does 
he  want  to  kill  my  beauty,  my  darling?  " 

"What  has  Plumpcheck  done?"  asks  Seraphia, 
anxiously. 

"He  has  prescribed,  for  my  Evie,  Bulger's  Bile 
Exterminator!  " 

"Why,  his  constant  prescription  of  the  medicine  was 
one  of  the  things  you  said  reconciled  you  to  Plump- 
check's  bills!  "  remarks  my  aunt,  sarcastically. 

"Was  it?"  says  papa,  grimly.  "That  was  for  other 
people's  families.  I'm  not  going  to  have  him  murder 
my  darling." 

"Well,  we've  lived  on  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator  for  a 
good  many  years,"  retorts  Seraphia,  "and  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  make  any  public  attack  on  Plump- 
check." 

"No,"  mutters  papa,  and  he  orders  up  a  case  of  Bul- 
ger's Bile  Exterminator. 

This  stood  permanently  in  my  sick  room  until  I  got 
so  tired  of  the  sight  of  it,  with  its  flaming  labels,  that 
I  really  think  it  cured  me  after  all. 

Besides,  I  was  desperately  afraid  of  Seraphia's  argus 
eyes,  for  though  Seraphia  wears  glasses,  unlike  most 
people  they  don't  seem  to  blind  her. 


g6  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

So  after  a  lazy,  dawdling  week  I  got  up  on  Easter 
Sunday  and  made  my  reentree  into  New  York  society, 
people  said,  I  believe,  a  little  more  spirituclle  than  ever. 

Old  DeCoursey  Four-in-Hand,  who  has  been  the  beau 
of  New  York  since  the  memory  of  mortal  man,  insisted 
I  had  brought  some  of  the  delicate  loveliness  of  the 
tropics  back  with  me.  But  DeCoursey  always  flatters 
young  girls;  he  flatters  them  into  petite  flirtations,  which 
the  old  beau  enjoys  as  much  as  he  did  the  more  excit- 
able and  fervid  affairs  of  his  younger  years. 

But  my  recovery  was  protracted.  Not  by  the  rush 
of  New  York  society,  for  I  love  gayety  and  excite- 
ment; but  by  certain  uncalled  for  and  malicious 
snubs  from  one  who  had  been  the  friend  of  my  heart. 
These  gave  me  any  number  of  bad  half  hours,  and  put 
me  into  frightful  spasms  of  despair,  anger  and  vindic- 
tiveness. 

One  evening  on  coming  home  from  Mrs.  Van  Dusen 
De  Punster's  musicale,  I  will  admit  I  looked  badly,  as 
what  girl  wouldn't  who  had  just  been  snubbed  by  one 
who  had  even  called  her  "  sister." 

I  was  making  my  toilette  de  nuit  when  Seraphia  strode 
in.  "Elise,"  she  said  to  my  maid,  "leave  the  room. 
I'll  do  your  mistress's  hair." 

Then  I  knew  something  was  coming;  or  my  aunt, 
who  had  lately  taken  a  great  interest  in  my  "health, 
wouldn't  have  waited  up  for  me. 

"Now,"  says  Seraphia,  taking  the  hairbrush  in  one 
hand  and  my  tresses  in  the  other,  and  giving  a  ferocious 
flourish  with  the  brush,  "Who's  the  man?  Out  with 
it!  Who's  the  man?"  This  is  emphasized  with  a  savage 
tug  at  my  locks  as  she  thinks  of  the  wretch  who  has 
trifled  with  my  young  affections. 

"  There  isn't  any  man,"  I  say  with  a  yell.  "  It's — 
\t's  a  woman !  " 

' '  A  woman !     Then  what  are  you  crying  about  ?  " 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  97 

"Who  wouldn't,  with  their  hair  nearly  pulled  out  by 
the  roots!  "  I  whimper. 

"  Did  I  hurt  you,  darling  ?  "  And  Seraphia  soothes 
me — good-hearted  old  Seraphia — whispering,  "What's 
the  trouble,  anyway  ?  Tell  your  old  aunt." 

Whereupon  I  burst  out  into  a  history  of  my  wrongs, 
from  Mabel  Bitterroot,  late  of  Milwaukee,  but  now  of 
Paris,  whose  father  made  beer  until  he  had  made  a  few 
million  dollars,  then  died  from  drinking  too  much  of 
it,  as  many  brewers  do.  They  are  not  like  the  pro- 
prietor of  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator;  they  esteem 
their  own  wares. 

Now  this  Mabel  Bitterroot  had  been  my  school  chum 
dt  Miss  Reese's,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  For  three  years  we 
had  walked  side  by  side  on  our  daily  promenade  up 
that  thoroughfare.  Therefore  I,  when  the  Bitterroots 
came  to  New  York,  had  helped  Mabel  socially.  She 
needed  it,  poor  girl,  having  little  but  money  to  recom- 
mend her.  Nevertheless  I  pushed  and  pulled  for  her, 
and  shoved  her  into  society  a  little  way.  Then  she 
went  to  Paris,  and  marrying  a  French  title  had 
returned  to  New  York  Madame  la  Baronne  deVieille 
Roche,  and  this  had  put  her  plump  into  the  holy  of 
holies  of  Manhattan  society. 

Now  I  had,  to  use  a  slang  expression,  banked  upon 
Mabel's  returning  favor  for  favor  and  dragging  me 
with  her  into  the  social  "Walhalla."  But  to  my 
chagrin,  dismay  and  astonishment,  being  well  in  herself, 
she  had  set  her  plump  little  back  and  white  shoulders 
against  the  door  and  was  squeezing  me  out  with  all  her 
assumed  French  chic  and  natural  Western  energy. 

As  I  finish  the  recital  of  my  wrongs  a  terrible 
expression  comes  into  Seraphia's  determined  counte- 
nance. "You  leave  her  to  me,"  she  says;  "  I'll  settle 
that  Bitterroot  girl  in  a  way  that  will  delict  you." 

"How?" 


98  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"  Never  you  mind.  You  keep  up  your  courage  and 
she  shall  dance  to  your  tune  and  walk  into  dinner  after 
you.  Have  you  got  grit  for  it  ?  " 

"I've  grit  enough  for  anything,"  I  grind  out 
between  some  pearls  1  call  my  teeth,  "to  be  revenged." 

I  am  excited,  I  am  bitter! 

Two  or  three  more  snubs  in  the  course  of  the  next 
few  days  add  to  my  chagrin.  I  am  omitted  from  a 
dinner  because  Madame  la  Baronne  doesn't  care  to  meet 
Western  people.  I  get  the  cold  shoulder  from  the  Horse 
Club  on  parade  day,  because  Mabel  de  Vieille  Roche 
doesn't  think  her  feet  will  compare  favorably  with 
mine  on  Bertie  Van  Dieman's  coach.  Of  course  they 
won't!  She  wears  number  threes  and  a  half  and  I 
number  twos — narrow  !  It's  a  compliment  in  one  way, 
but  the  affair  makes  me  desperate. 

Into  this  pandemonium  of  crushed  heart  from  Florida 
and  crushed  pride  from  New  York  comes  dear  little 
artless  Mirabelle  to  stick  pins  into  me.  Mrs.  Armitage 
and  daughter  en  route  for  Europe  pass  through  New 
York. 

During  a  t£te-h-t£te,  little  Mirabelle  with  her  childish 
disregard  for  other  people's  feelings  says  to  me,  play- 
fully but  pointedly  :  "And  how  is  Miss  Webster?" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  her!  "  I  answer.  "  Isn't  she 
married  to  him  yet?"  The  first  savagely,  the  last,  I 
am  ashamed  to  say,  so  pathetically  that  Mirie  laughs 
till  the  tears  are  in  her  eyes.  "  Didn't  you  see  her  in 
Southern  Florida?"  I  continue. 

"No,"  answers  Mirie,  with  childish  frankness. 
"  That  is  the  curious  part  of  it.  Miss  Webster  snub- 
bed Quinine  Powders  as  well  as  you.  She  wasn't  on 
the  train  either.  He  got  fearfully  huffy  about  it.  I 
can  see  him  now,  biting  his  mustache !  But  after  taking 
a  quinine  and  whiskey  at  Palatka  he  sent  a  letter  to 
her,  and  I  believe  she  never  answered  it.  She's  a 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  99 

rather  haughty  girl,  that  Miss  Webster,  at  least  he  told 
me  so.  Then  you  know — well,  I  tried  to  make  up  for 
Miss  Webster's  absence — to  capture  Quinine  Powders' 
heart  on  the  rebound,  but  he  was  all  for  the  absent 
one.  Even  when  I  tried  my  great  fin  de  siecle  baby 
dodge  of  throwing  myself  into  mamma's  lap — you 
know  I  look  very  pretty  and  enfante  gate's  that  way — he 
said  sulkily:  'If  the  brat's  sleepy  why  don't  you  put 
her  to  bed,  Mrs.  Armitage? '  I  hate  him  for  that!  I'm 
serving  him  out  for  that  now!  " 

"How?"  I  gasp. 

At  this  the  artless  child  goes  into  snickers  of 
laughter,  but  continues:  "Then  some  news  came  to 
Quinine  Powders  from  his  father  or  grandfather — 
'grand  govern'r,'  he  calls  him,  I  believe,  I  don't  know 
what  it  was — from  England,  and  so  he  went  to 
Havana  and  from  there  on  to  London.  He  told  me, 
Evie,  that  he  thought  you  were  the  stupidest  flirt  he 
had  ever  seen." 

"Stupidest  flirt!"  I  break  out  in  such  rage  that 
Mirie,  who  takes  things  very  ingenuously,  goes  into  the 
hall  and  I  can  hear  her  in  bursts  of  uncontrollable 
laughter. 

Once  or  twice  during  her  visit,  however,  she  looked 
quizzically  at  me  as  if  she  had  something  to  say,  but 
as  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  push  her  or  any  one  else 
forward  in  New  York  society,  artless  Mirabelle  appar- 
ently took  a  dislike  to  me,  and  passed  on  her  way  to 
London  taking  her  horrible  poodle  with  her  and 
leaving  me  in  a  state  to  sacrifice  every  one,  even  my- 
self, to  obtain  vengeance  on  this  unjust  world  that  had 
affronted  both  my  pride  and  my  heart. 

Just  about  this  time  I  accidentally  overhear  auntie 
and  papa  in  consultation.  "You  tote  her  to  Colorado 
and  get  her  spirits  up  and  her  health  back  again,  and 
I'll  import  the  animal,"  she  says. 


IOO  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

"  Don't  you  think  you'd  better  take  her  with  you  to 
Europe?"  replies  papa. 

"No,  she's  not  well  enough;  besides  she'd  have 
idiosyncrasies,  tastes  and  feelings  that  might  endanger 
my  plan,  which  I  intend  to  run  on  strictly  business 
principles.  You  open  your  purse,  Abner,  and  back  me 
with  the  dollars,  and  if  Evie's  the  girl  I  think  she  is 
we'll  socially  smash  them  all ! "  With  this  Seraphia 
plants  her  number  fours  down  on  the  floor  in  a  way 
that  I  know  means  something  great. 

Yes,  that's  what  I  want  to  do,  smash  them  all! 

So  when  my  aunt  comes  to  me  and  remarks:  "  Evie, 
I've  fixed  it.  Do  you  want  to  crush  that  Bitterroot 
girl  entirely?"  I  cry  out  "Yes,"  with  my  whole 
injured  soul. 

"Would  you,  to  squash  her," — I  use  Seraphia's  ex- 
pression— "be  willing  to  make  a  marriage  like  hers? 
Marry  a  man  with  a  title?  " 

I  have  put  love  out  of  my  heart  and  am  happier  for 
doing  it.  I  say:  "Yes,  if  he's  acceptable.  I  don't 
want  to  marry  a  drunkard  nor  a  deaf  mute  nor  a 
blind  idiot;  but  if  he's  presentable  and  a  gentleman 
and  has  a  rank  that  will  permit  me  to  snub  those  who 
have  been  snubbing  me,  and  crush  those  who  have 
been  trying  to  crush  me — YES!  " 

"  Very  well,  give  us  your  hand  on  it,  old  girl,"  says 
Seraphia,  confidently.  "And  if  there's  a  British  peer 
in  the  market  I'll  get  him  for  you." 

Two  days  afterward  my  aunt  sailed  for  Europe,  and 
I  was  taken  by  papa  to  Colorado,  where  the  air  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  made  me  a  new  girl,  bringing  the 
roses  back  again  to  my  cheeks  and  the  elasticity  to  my 
step  that  had  been  lost  in  Florida  orange  groves.  A 
peculiar,  devil-may-care  indifference  was  in  me;  it  aided 
my  health,  but  papa  suggested  that  it  didn't  improve 
me  in  other  ways. 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  101 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  for  anything,  Evie,  now," 
he  remarks  one  day  in  Denver. 

"Oh,  yes  I  do,  for  you  and  dear  old  Seraphia. " 

Here  something  comes  into  my  face  that  makes  papa 
start.  He  sighs,  "  My  little  Evie  doesn't  seem  the 
same  girl  that  she  was  a  year  ago." 

"I  am  not,"  I  return.  "  I'm  educating  myself  for 
my  coming  rank;  I'm  assuming  the  indifference  and 
hauteur  of  the  aristocracy. " 

But  it  was  only  assumption!  What  a  thrill  did  go 
through  me  when  about  the  middle  of  June,  as  we  were 
dawdling  over  the  beauties  of  Manitou,  papa  showed 
me  a  dispatch  from  London !  It  was  short  and  pithy,  as 
all  cablegrams  are,  carry  what  they  may,  triumph  or 
despair. 

It  read : 

44  Settled  !    Importing  it  with  me. 

SERAPHIA." 

"Importing  //  with  me!"  I  say  angrily.  "How 
does  she  dare  to  call  the  man  I  am  to  marry  'IT! ' " 

"Well,  you  see,  Seraphia  looks  upon  it  simply  as  a 
business  transaction,"  mutters  papa  hanging  his  head. 
Then  he  adds  suddenly:  "If  you  don't  want  to  go  on 
with  the  matter,  Evie,  just  say  the  word  and  I'll  "bust " 
the  whole  affair,  though  it  will  be  the  most  expensive 
speculation  I  ever  went  into." 

"What  is  he?    Who  is  he?  "  I  say  eagerly. 

"I  don't  know.  Only  by  the  price  I  think  he  must 
be  at  least  a  duke,"  answers  dear  papa,  ruefully. 

A  duke!  I'll  do  it!  Visions  of  social  triumph  float 
through  my  mind.  A  duke !  I  shall  be  "  Her 
Grace!"  I'll  crush  them  all,  especially  Madame  la 
Baronne.  Socially  she  shall  feel  the  prints  of  my  high- 
heeled  shoes! 

Looking  on  me  my  father  says  cheerfully:  "This 
coming  social  triumph  seems  to  have  put  new  blood  in 


102  THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

you.  Your  eyes  flash,  your  cheeks  are  roses.  My 
daring,  I'm  glad  I  had  the  money  to  get  it  for  you." 

It  is  with  this  feeling  in  my  heart  that  I  go  back 
to  New  York,  only  stopping  one  day  there. 

Then  the  heat  drives  us  to  a  pretty  villa  papa  has 
taken  near  Narragansett  Pier  on  the  Point  Judith 
road;  Sea  View  I  believe  they  call  it,  and  quite  prop- 
erly, for  the  breakers  wash  the  rocks  almost  beneath 
our  windows,  and  the  big  Fall  River  boats  pass  us  in 
the  evening  illuminated  like  the  fairy  palaces  that 
they  are. 

Two  days  ago  sitting  on  our  veranda  and  gazing 
across  the  waves  towards  the  queen  of  watering  places, 
but  eight  miles  away,  I  put  in  a  plea  for  Newport. 

But  father  growls:  "  Two  villas  with  a  lord  on  top 
of  them  are  too  much  financially  for  me  at  present. 
Besides,  you're  in  touch  with  Newport.  You  can  sail 
over  there  in  an  hour,  and  make  your  Newport  friends 
perfectly  miserable  when  you've  got  him.  You  can 
show  him  off  before  them,  and  after  the  ceremony  you 
can  flaunt  your  cards  with  a  title  and  coronet  on  them 
till  they're  sick.  Hold  your  horses  till  you  are  married 
to  him. " 

" Married  to  him!"  The  words  seem  to  ring  in  my 
brain  while  a  sudden  chill  runs  through  my  backbone. 
"MARRIED  TO  HIM!" 

I'd  scarcely  thought  of  that !  All  I  had  thought  of 
was  social  grandeur,  the  title  on  my  card,  people  call- 
ing me  "My  Lady,  Countess,  Duchess,"  or  something 
proudly  aristocratic.  Not  much  thought  of  the  giving 
in  marriage — that  had  been  so  secondary. 

He's  getting  frightfully  near!  Seraphia  will  arrive 
to-day  in  New  York.  I  am  growing  so  uneasy. 

I  take  the  ferry;  carriage,  flunkies  and  all,  and  visit 
Newport. 

That  puts  social  backbone  into  me.     I  see  a  Hunga- 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  103 

rian  Count  and  a  Dutch  Baron  who  are  being  wor- 
shiped. What  will  they  say  to  an  English  peer?  I 
am  resolved ! 

Telegram  from  Seraphia.  She  has  arrived  on  the  Teu- 
tonic and  has  him  with  her.  A  house  party  has  been 
invited  to  meet  him.  We've  not  been  able  to  give 
his  name;  we  have  simply  invited  them  to  meet  a 
titled  gentleman  from  Europe,  and  this  will  bring  them 
all. 

Narragansett  Pier,  August  2d,  1894. 

My  birthday!  I  wake  with  a  jump — the  start  that 
comes  to  people  when  something  dire  is  going  to 
happen. 

Ah !  I  remember  now.  My  birthday  present,  that's 
what  papa  called  it  yesterday — they're  going  to  give  me 
my  birthday  present.  I  shall  see  the  man  who 

I  am  very  nervous  and  excited. 

"That  is  right;  that's  Parisian,  Mademoiselle," 
says  Elise,  as  she  dresses  my  hair.  Elise,  as  usual  with 
maid  servants,  has  picked  up  an  inkling  of  what  is 
going  to  happen.  "  It's  quite  the  proper  mode.  When 
I  dressed  the  young  Comtesse  d'Hautville  on  the  day 
her  future  husband  was  to  be  presented  to  her,  the  poor 
child  trembled  so  I  could  hardly  get  her  gown  on.  But 
her  fiance"  was  the  Duke  de  Passy,  and  he  was  sixty-five. 
del!  Did  I  hurt  Mademoiselle's  hair?  " 

For  at  this  sixty-five  suggestion  I  have  given  a  faint 
shriek  of  nervous  dismay. 

"  Yes,  it's  quite  right,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  should 
have  a  leetle  bashful  excitement,  it  indicates  the  sublime 
modesty  of  the  noblesse." 

Sixty-five?  I  shudder!  Seraphia  can't  have  been 
fool  enough  to  buy  a  sixty-five-year-old  Peer  of  the 
Realm  for  me.  Can  she  have  gone  on  the  awful  theory 
that  sixty-five  won't  last  so  long,  and  the  title  will  live 
after  him? 


io4  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

I  nervously  read  the  marriage  service  as  I  breakfast 
in  my  room. 

"  Love,  honor  and  obey  "  adds  to  my  timidity.  I  grow 
bashful  and  blushing!  I  begin  to  have  the  feelings  of 
a  new  Sultana  when  she  sees  the  handkerchief  flutter  at 
her  feet.  It  seems  to  me  I'm  being  sold  myself ! 

Fortunately,  I  am  not  compelled  to  social  duties; 
the  house  party  are  not  here,  they  will  not  arrive  uni.il 
evening,  and  dinner. 

Word  is  brought  that  papa  wishes  to  see  me  in  the 
library.  Am  I  all  right?  Oh  yes,  my  toilet  is  exquisite. 
"  Is  he  here?  "  I  say  tremblingly  to  Elise. 

"  No,  I  think  not,  Mademoiselle;  I  am  not  sure." 

"  Has  Miss  Bulger  come?  " 

"No,  Mademoiselle." 

Then  I  nerve  myself  and  go  down. 

It  is  only  papa,  thank  God!  only  papa!  He  looks 
quite  nervous  and  agitated  too,  dear  old  father! 

He  says  nervously:  "I've  a  letter  from  Seraphia. 
She  will  be  here  on  the  afternoon  train.  She's  brought 
with  her,  on  the  Teutonic ,  the  gentleman  who  has 
agreed  under  financial  settlements — "  papa  hums  over 
this — "to  make  you  the  Viscountess  Bar-Sinister." 

"Only  a  Viscount!  "  I  pout,  disappointedly. 

"Good  heavens!  isn't  that  enough?  In  time  he  will 
be  the  Marquis  of  Fitzminster.  He  is  twenty-seven." 

"Twenty-seven!  Did  she  send  his  photograph?" 

"What's  the  good  of  a  photograph  when  she  brings 
him  this  afternoon?" 

"  Twenty-seven !  Oh,  papa,  you  frighten  me.  Twenty- 
seven!  Per— perhaps  he'll  expect  me  to  love  him,"  I 
falter  in  horror. 

"  Would  you  like  him  seventy?  "  growls  papa  nervously. 
Then  he  adds,  taking  me  in  his  arms:  "  Do  you  want 
to  throw  the  matter  up?  If  you  do,  fire  him,  Evie,  for 
God's  sake!  Don't  reproach  me  afterwards.  Don't 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  105 

come  to  me  and  say,  '  Father  you  have  ruined  my  life,' 
because  I  haven't  done  it,  you  have  done  it  yourself, 
you  and  Seraphia — curse  her  vanity ! "  Here  the  old 
gentleman  breaks  out  in  rage  but  finally  says:  "  You'd 
better  see  him  anyway;  this — this  cursed  birthday 
present  of  mine,"  and  he  commences  to  cry  over  me. 

But  I  return:  "Papa,  you  haven't  the  firmness  that 
makes  a  great  family.  It  is  necessary  to  sacrifice 
something  in  this  world.  A  Viscountess,  a  future 
Marchioness,  I'll  do  it!  When  Seraphia  comes  bring 
him  in!" 

Then  somehow  the  thought  of  all  the  money  he  must 
have  spent  for  my  last  fad  and  all  his  goodness  to  me 
overcomes  me,  and  I  put  my  arms  round  papa's  neck 
and  sit  down  on  his  lap  and  call  him  "dear  old  pap," 
and  together  we  have  a  good  old-fashioned  cry. 

But  still  I  am  determined ! 

I  go  away  much  agitated.  I'll  try  to  forget  all  about 
the  matter  till  he  comes.  Twenty-seven !  The  age  is 
a  frightfully  romantic  one.  Shall  we  be  married  soon? 
Oh  no,  not  very  soon.  It's  so  hard  to  give  up  girl- 
hood, even  to  be  "my  lady." 

In  this  frame  of  mind  I  order  my  pony  phaeton. 

It  comes  to  the  door  drawn  by  Punch  and  Judy,  two 
as  likely  cobs  as  ever  were  under-sized  and  over-fed, 
driven  by  my  little  tiger  Jimmy,  as  smart  and  cute  a 
boy  as  ever  wore  livery. 

In  this  equipage  I  rattle  down  Ocean  Avenue,  past 
the  hotels  crowded  with  summer  visitors,  by  the  little 
street  that  leads  to  the  beach  on  which  the  bathing  is 
effected  that  supplies  the  pictorial  newspapers  of 
America  with  views  of  sea  nymphs  in  living  picture 
dress. 

The  laughing  crowd,  the  gaily  costumed  ladies,  the 
whole  scene  is  a  confused  jumble  in  my  mind — all  I 
know  is  I  am  curious  to  see  him  and  desperately 


io6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

frightened  at  the  thought  of  beholding  him.  What  will 
he  say  to  me  ?  Will  he  kiss  me  ? — O-o-ugh  ! 

I  crack  my  whip!  In  my  pony  phaeton  I  fly  across 
the  bridge  to  the  heights  and  drive  toward  the  north 
for  several  miles.  Turning  I  ford  Little  River,  and  so 
up  the  hill  with  the  great  blackberry  bushes — for  Narra- 
gansett  is  celebrated  for  its  wild  blackberries — then 
return  home  by  a  roundabout  way  past  the  Casino — 
everything  in  Narragansett  centers  at  the  Casino. 

It  is  the  noontide  hour;  the  bathing  has  ceased;  a 
crowd  of  ladies  and  their  escorts  fill  the  lawn  in  front 
of  the  Casino  as  I  drive  past.  Lander's  orchestra  is 
giving  out  its  strains ;  the  bright  summer  costumes  of 
beautiful  women,  the  blue  water,  the  sunny  sky  remind 
me  of  Florida.  The  band  is  playing  one  of  the  waltzes 
I  danced  with  him  in  Florida — //  is  Florida  ! 

For  there  is  Maddox  in  the  roadway  at  the  entrance 
beneath  the  big  arch  with  other  flunkies  and  valets — 
Maddox ! 

He  doffs  his  hat  and  grins  to  me  rather  reproachfully 
I  think.  Oh  mercy,  he  has  a  quinine  powder  in  his 
hand! 

I  look  up  on  the  crowded  lawn,  and  there — Oh  my 
heaven !  to-day,  when  I  am  to  be  promised  to  another ; 
TO-DAY! — George — there  he  is,  the  same  Florida  smiia 
on  his  face — George  Cranmere !  gazing  at  me  through 
his  single  eyeglass,  as  he  did  on  the  ramparts  of  Fort 
Marion ;  for  there  is  love  in  his  glance !  Yes,  I  see  it ! 
I  know  it — it  is  LOVE  ! 

The  Webster  girl  and  jealousy  are  forgotten.  As  I 
give  him  a  sunny  smile,  I  forgive  him.  Indifference 
has  flown  from  me,  love  has  come  again !  I  see  at  the 
same  table  Mirie,  little,  artless,  laughing  Mirie,  giving 
chocolates  to  her  accursed  caniche,  Abelard !  Is  she 
playing  her  cards  again  for  George  as  she  did  in 
Southern  Florida?  She  can't  have  him! — BUT  CAN  i  ? 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  107 

With  one  flashing  crash  my  whip  flies  over  my 
ponies'  backs.  Punch  and  Judy  fly  as  arrows  from  a 
bow. 

I  must  stop  it — stop  it!  before  they  betroth  me — 
stop  it!  before  Seraphia  drags  me  into  unloving 
matrimony — stop  it!  someway — so  that  I  and  George — 
stop  it!  STOP  IT  !  ! 

With  each  thought-flash  my  whip  flecks  poor  Punch 
and  Judy,  who  fly  as  they  never  flew  before,  turning 
into  the  Point  Judith  road  and  drawing  up  breathless 
into  ihtporti  cochtrc  of  our  villa. 

With  a  spring  Jimmy  is  in  front  of  the  horses  and  I 
am  in  the  library,  crying:  "  STOP  IT  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    IMPORTED    ANIMAL    HAS    BITTEN    ME  ! 

"WHAT'S  the  matter  ?  "  screams  Seraphia  astounded, 
for  she  and  papa  are  in  consultation.  Then  she  seizes 
me  in  her  loving  arms,  covers  me  with  kisses,  and  gab- 
bles, "  Here's  a  fine  girl  to  marry  a  lord  !  and  I've  got 
him,  Evie — got  him  at  a  bargain  !  '* 

"  Is  he — in — the — house  ?  "  I  falter. 

'  No,  but  he  soon  will  be  ;  he's  in  Narragansett. 
Lord  Bar-Sinister  came  over  with  me  on  the  Teutonic 
That  imp,  Mirabelle  Armitage  came  also.  I  chaperoned 
her  ; "  answers  my  aunt,  her  face  growing  grim  with 
memories  of  Mirie. 

"Yes,  she's  here,"  I  say. 

"But  sit  down — stop  panting  and  talk  business  with 
me  and  your  dad.  Now  I've  got  him  for  you  under 
pretty  advantageous  conditions.  Lord  Bar-Sinister  by 
courtesy,  eldest  son  and  heir  apparent  to  the  Marquis 


io8  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

of  Fitzminster,  of  the  English  peerage.  If  you  want 
to  look  him  up  in  Burke,  there  he  is,  A  No.  i  ; "  re- 
marks Seraphia  proudly,  tapping  a  great  red  volume 
she  has  taken  from  her  gripsack.  "  There's  no  doubt 
about  him,  he's  genuine  and  prime." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  I  lisp. 

"Aha!  Already  assuming  aristocratic  indifference, 
the  cute  darling,"  laughs  auntie,  chucking  me  under 
the  chin.  "Aren't  you  dying  to  know  whether  he's 
handsome  ?  Guess  what  your  lord's  age  is,  Evie  ?" 

"  Papa  has  told  me  he  is  twenty-seven."  This  is  in 
my  most  indifferent  tone. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  whether  he's  lovable?" 

"No!"  I  utter  this  with  a  stolidity  they  think  is 
assumed. 

"You  beat  the  world  for  an  actress,  Evie,"  says 
papa. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you !  "  cries  Seraphia.  "He's  one  of 
the  handsomest,  nicest  young  men  in  the  world,  though 
he  hates  me  because  I  kept  him  from  flirting  on  the 
voyage.  He  was  ineffably  sulky  all  the  way  over. " 

"What  terms  did  you  make?"  interjects  father, 
nervously. 

"Well,  Abner,  you  see,  his  father,  the  Marquis  of 
Fitzminster,  arranged  the  details.  If  Bar-Sinister  had 
had  his  way,  I  think  he  would  have  come  over  for 
nothing.  Bless  you,  he  jumped  at  my  offer,  said  it 
was  the  nicest  compliment  that  had  even  been  paid 
him,  but  his  father,  who  is  a  knowing  old  rogue,  in- 
sisted on  making  the  arrangements." 

"  Didn't  Bar-Sinister  see  my  beautiful  photograph !  " 
I  ask  indignantly.  I  am  indifferent  to  the  man,  but  I 
don't  want  my  charms  slighted. 

"Bless  you,  Evie,   there  isn't  a  grain  of  curiosity 

in     Bar-Sinister's     composition,"     returns     Seraphia. 

'All  he  seemed  anxious  about  was  to  get  the  matter 


THE    LADIES"  JUGGERNAUT.  109 

over  and  come  to  America.  But  the  Marquis — Fitz- 
minster,  you  know — said  that  his  son  was  so  heavily 
strapped  that  he  wouldn't  marry  any  woman  who 
couldn't  pay  his  debts  and  give  him  proper  settle- 
ments. These,  he  informed  me,  amounted  to  twenty 
thousand  pounds.  'You  see,  Bar-Sinister  is  such  a 
spendthrift,'  he  remarked  to  me,  '  sowing  his  wild  oats 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.'  I  agreed  to  pay  his  debts! 
Then  Fitzminster  gave  me  a  list  of  Lord  Bar-Sinister's 
liabilities,  and  I  found  that  twenty  thousand  pounds 
meant  forty  thousand  pounds. " 

"  But  you  only  drew  on  me  for  twenty  thousand  for 
that  item,"  says  papa. 

"There's  where  I'm  American  business,  Abner,"  an- 
swers my  aunt,  proudly.  "I  made  every  tradesman 
and  money  lender  cut  his  bill  one-half,  and  they  were 
so  astonished  at  getting  anything  at  all  out  of  Bar- 
Sinister  that  they  cut  them  like  chain  lightning.  There 
they  are  now  !  "  and  Seraphia  produces  from  her  grip- 
sack a  huge  bundle  of  papers  very  carefully  arranged, 
and,  tapping  them  proudly  with  her  index  finger,  adds : 
"  Receipted  bills  of  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  in  full!  This 
over,  I  guaranteed  the  married  couple  jointly  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year  (ten  thousand  pounds),  and 
made  the  following  contract  with  him,  to  which  I've 
got  his  signature  :  That  under  these  settlements  and 
conditions  he — Bar-Sinister — is  to  marry  Miss  Bulger 
when  she  appoints ;  if  she  so  elects  within  the  year.  In 
case  she  doesn't  elect  within  the  year,  then  the  con- 
tract is  null  and  void.  For  the  payment  of  the  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year  I  have  pledged  one-fourth  of 
the  stock  in  *  The  Bulger's  Bile  Exterminator  Com- 
pany,' which  is  ample  security.  Lord  Bar-Sinister, 
who  is  business  to  the  backbone,  remarked  it  was  good 
for  a  hundred  thousand  annual  dividend.  Examine 
these  contracts,  signed,  sealed  and  delivered!"  and 
Seraphia  would  band  them  to  papa  to  inspect. 


Jio  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

But  father  is  looking  over  the  receipted  bills  of  the 
gentleman  his  daughter  is  to  marry,  and  his  face  has 
assumed  a  dazed  expression. 

"  Papa,  what's  the  matter  ? "  I  cry,  for  he  appears  as 
if  he  were  going  to  faint. 

"  These  bills  !  "  he  gasps.  "  Good  Heavens  !  "  and 
breaks  out  in  an  excited  and  awful  tone:  "  Madam- 
oiselle  De  Lorme's  carriage  account,  Paris,  February 
28,  six  thousand  francs;  flowers  for  Eloise  Mortimore, 
one  hundred  and  four  pounds,  six  shillings  and  three- 
pence; bracelet  sent  Miss  Seraphine  de  la  Cour,  one 
hundred  and  four  guineas.  Seraphia  !  "  Papa's  voice 
has  grown  pathetic.  "  This  man  who  is  marrying  my 
daughter — HOW  ARE  HIS  MORALS  ?  " 

But  here  is  my  chance  for  freedom.  "  Bad  !  "  I  cry. 
"  Bad  as  a  British  peer's.  BAD  !  Look  at  those  bills  ! 
De  Lorme's  carriages  !  Who  is  she  ?  Eloise  Mor- 
timore, a  music  hall  girl,  celebrated  for  doing  London 
gilded  youth;  Seraphine  de  la  Cour,  notorious  also. 
I've  seen  her  name  in  the  papers;  don't  attempt  to 
deny  it,  Seraphia,  don't  attempt  to  deny  it.  Marry 
him?"  Here  I  break  out:  "Marry  him!  Father, 
would  you  give  your  daughter  to  a  man  who  has  such 
bills  as  these  ?  Look  !  "  I  hold  up  another  in  triumph, 
for  I  am  carrying  my  point;  papa's  face  has  an  awful 
though  terrified  expression  on  it.  "  Rent  of  Georgette 
Blackbird's  apartments,  London,  March  4th,  1894. 
You've  heard  of  HER!  " 

As  I  mention  this  siren  whose  name  has  been 
blazoned  in  the  newspapers  of  both  continents  as  a 
terror  to  mankind,  father  shudders:  "  Good  God!  " 

"How  could  you,"  I  sob,  "how  could  you  put  your 
lamb  into  this  wolf's  claws?  Oh,  papa!  papa!  " 

With  this  I  throw  myself  into  his  arms  and  he,  hold- 
ing me  to  his  breast,  cries  but:  "Seraphia,  damn  it, 
how  dared  you?" 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  in 

"How  dared  I?"  answers  auntie  grandly.  "How 
dared  I?  He's  no  worse  than  the  rest  of  'em. 
Do  you  expect  to  go  over  and  find  a  lord  that's 
ready  to  sell  himself  and  title — an  angel  without  wings? 
That  kind  ain't  in  the  market.  I  got  the  best  for  sale. 
That's  all  I  promised — the  best  in  the  market!  He 
doesn't  look  dissipated,  he  isn't  a  drunkard,  he's  way 
ahead  of  the  rest  of  'em,  he's  a  handsome,  nice  young 
fellow."  Then  she  sneers:  "I  suppose  now  you'll 
reproach  me  for  wasting  your  money. " 

"I  do,"  answers  father  savagely;  but  makes  me 
happy  by  saying:  "Cheer  up,  Evie,  you  shall  never 
marry  a  man  of  his  moral  depravity." 

To  this  I  murmur:  "Thank  you,  papa;  you're 
the  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest  old  papa!"  then  ejacu- 
late, "But,  oh  mercy!  Seraphia,  how  could  you  let 
papa  waste  his  money  by  making  such  a  bargain? " 

"Making  such  a  bargain,  you  ungrateful  chit!" 
cries  auntie  confronting  me.  "What  do  you  mean, 
anyway?  Turning  up  your  nose  at  something  you 
haven't  seen.  I'll  show  you  whether  he's  a  good  bar- 
gain or  not!  As  for  you  Abner,  you  poor,  weak- 
kneed  speculator  in  lords,  I'll  relieve  you  from  any 
financial  responsibility  in  the  matter!  " 

"  How?  "  asks  father  anxiously. 

"BY  TAKING  HIM  MYSELF!" 

"Great  Scott!  "  cries  dad. 

"  Oh  mercy!  "  gasp  I. 

"The  contract  reads  '  Miss  Bulger,'  "  goes  on  Sera- 
phia  excitedly.  "  I  am  technically  the  Miss  Bulger. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  his  moral  character,  I've  been  a 
member  of  the  '  Society  for-the-Reformation  of  Hus- 
bands '  for  ten  years,  and  have  never  had  a  subject  to 
work  on.  I  can  reform  any  man !  By  Connecticut 
and  Missouri!  I'll  see  whether  Bar-Sinister  behaves 
himself  or  not  after  I  marry  him !  I  half  love  him  as 


112  THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

I  speak — I'll  adore  him  in  two  minutes!"  Then  the 
dear  old  eyes  suddenly  grow  big  with  some  grand 
emotion  and  she  cries:  "  I  love  him  NOW!  I'll  take 
him.  I'll  pledge  my  interest  in  the  Bile  Extermi- 
nator for  our  joint  income.  I'll  pay  the  twenty 
thousand  pounds  to  you,  Abner,  for  my  darling's  debts ! 
This  contract  is  mine!  I  HAVE  HIM!"  And  her 
jaws  snap  as  a  dog's  close  upon  a  toothsome  beef 
bone. 

"  Done !  "  cries  papa. 

"Brava!"  shout  I. 

Then  dad  chuckles,  "  Evie,  I'll  put  the  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  we  pull  out  of  the  fire,  into  United  States 
Government's  for  you." 

"Do,"  I  say,  "dear  old  papa." 

That  twenty  thousand  pounds  will  be  so  nice  to  add 
to  my  fortune  for  George.  My  face  is  very  radiant. 

"But,"  says  Seraphia,  sternly,  "I  insist  upon  one 
thing." 

"  What  is  that?  " 

"That  my  future  husband — don't  dare  to  laugh, 
Miss,  this  is  the  chance  of  my  life  and  I'm  not  going 
to  lose  it ! — shall  remain  in  ignorance  that  this  contract 
was  not  for  the  young  Miss  Bulger,  but  for  me! — that  Bar- 
Sinister  be  invited  to  live  at  this  villa  and  be  treated 
with  all  respect  as  my  affianced  husband.  If  you  don't 
care  to  be  Lady  Bar-Sinister  and  a  Marchioness  some 
day,  I  do!  My  George  is  as  dandy  a  fellow  as  ever 
walked  Piccadilly. "  With  this  such  a  grand  light  of 
possession  and  rapture  blazes  up  in  her  eyes  that  her 
spectacles  become  luminous. 

As  she  speaks  of  her  George,  I  think  of  my  George. 
I  seize  and  kiss  and  congratulate  Seraphia,  whispering: 
"You're  the  dearest  old  thing  in  the  world — no,  not 
old ;  "  for  auntie  is  growing  younger  and  more  tender 
as  she  thinks  of  her  approaching  marriage,  as  most 
women  do  when  they  are  past  fifty. 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  113 

To  this  papa  adds,  enthusiastically:  "We'll  give  all 
our  entertainments  and  blow-outs  for  you,  Raphie  anu 
your  lord,  just  as  we  would  if  Evie  had  taken  him. 
We'll  raise  the  roof  off,  when  you  become  'my  lady.' 
Haste  to  the  wedding." 

Then  he,  laughing,  and  I,  hysterical,  dance  a  jig  of 
joy  round  dear  old  auntie,  who's  going  to  be  married. 

"That's  all  right!"  answers  Seraphia,  "I'll  just  go 
out  and  take  a  dash  on  my  bicycle  to  freshen  me  up,  and 
be  all  ready  to  meet  him  when  he  comes.  They're  get- 
ting in  George's  baggage  now. "  For  there  is  a  clatter 
of  trunks  in  the  hall. 

So  she  goes  away  happy  and  contented,  leaving  papa 
looking  wonderingly  at  me.  Then  he  whispers  know- 
ingly, but  wistfully:  "Evie,  there  is  some  one  else?" 

And  I  answer:  "Yes,  there  is;  and  I'm  the  happiest 
of  girls  that  you  didn't  let  me  make  a  fool  of  myself  and 
marry  a  man  who  has  such  bills  before  marriage. 
What  will  he  have  afterwards?  Oh,  poor  Seraphia!  " 

"Oh,  trust  your  aunt  to  take  care  of  herself;  it's 
George  I'm  pitying,"  chuckles  papa,  grimly.  "Good 
Lord!  if  he  sees  her  in  her  bicycle  bloomers  Bar-Sinis- 
ter'll  look  two  ways  for  Sunday." 

I  can't  answer  this,  for  Auntie  as  a  wheel  woman,  in 
spectacles,  knickerbockers  and  masculine  ensemble  is 
a  picture  to  make  men  weep ;  at  least  they  always  do — 
with  laughter. 

To  his  merriment  I  add  my  share  and  go  away  happy 
as  the  slave  rescued  from  the  auction-block  and  think 
for  an  hour  or  two  of  my  George. 

But  the  agitation  of  the  morning  has  been  toe 
much  for  me.  I  have  a  nervous  attack  that  prevents, 
my  playing  the  hostess  in  the  afternoon. 

I  am  glad  of  it,  as  I  hear  the  voices  of  the  guests  a? 
they  arrive  from  the  train,  and  send  word  I'm  not  well 
enough  to  go  down.  Let  Seraphia  take  all  the  honors 
to  herself  with  her  fiance. 


ii4  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"He  is  here?"  I  ask,  languidly,  as  father  comes  in 
to  my  room. 

"Yes.  Don't  put  yourself  out  about  him,  Evie," 
says  papa.  "The  imported  animal  wouldn't  have 
suited  you  anyway;  you  want  an  aristocrat,  and,  by 
Tophct!  Bar-Sinister  is  a  business  man." 

"A  business  man?"  I  laugh.  "Let  Seraphia  be 
happy  with  him." 

"  She  will  be,"  says  father.  "You  should  see  her 
costume  for  dinner.  She's  got  on  a  low-necked  misfit 
of  Worth's  that  makes  her  look  more  distingut  than  her 
bicycle  bloomers;  and  she  so  loving  to  him — coos  over 
him,  calls  him  her  boy — Seraphia's  duckey.  You 
should  see  him  dodge  her.  You'll  enjoy  the  sight — 
to-morrow  morning,  when  you  are  straight  again." 

So  we'll  laugh  together  over  the  imported  animal. 
Then  papa  kisses  me  and  goes  down. 

I  have  my  dinner  served  in  my  room. 

Suddenly  it  occurs  to  me,  as  I  feel  better  and 
refreshed,  that  I'll  drive  into  the  town  to  the  Casino 
and  the  hotels,  where  I  may  meet  George. 

It  is  like  a  Florida  night — beautiful  and  warm  and 
moonlit;  he  will  be  at  the  Casino;  I  will  invite  him  to 
visit  us. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward  my  pony  phaeton  is 
at  the  door.  I  descend,  not  venturing  near  the  dining- 
room,  from  which  come  the  buzz  of  conversation  and 
the  clinking  of  glasses,  Seraphia's  strident  laugh  and 
little  Mirie's  knowing  accents — yes,  I  hear  her  voice. 

Behind  Punch  and  Judy  I  fly  to  the  town,  where  I 
pass  a  delightful  yet  disappointing  hour.  I  wander 
about  the  Casino;  I  call  atone  or  two  of  the  hotels 
where  I  know  some  of  the  ladies,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
the  man  whose  face  has  come  back  to  my  heart;  but 
neither  George  nor  Maddox  are  visible. 

To-morrow   morning,   though — to-morrow    morning 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  115 

he  will  surely  be  at  the  bathing  place,  and  the  surf  will 
dash  about  so  happily  for  us.  To-morrow  morning  I 
will  renew  the  dream  of  Florida. 

I  drive  back  to  the  house  and  am  passing  through 
the  hall  to  the  staircase  to  go  to  my  own  apartments. 
From  the  brilliantly  lighted  dining-room  Mine's  voice 
comes  to  me.  It  says:  "  Why  isn't  Evie  down?  She'd 
enjoy  this.  She  hasn't  seen  the  coming  bridegroom 
yet!  " 

Curiosity  is  upon  me;  I  will  see  the  coming  bride- 
groom, Seraphia's  future  lord  and  master.  On  tip-toe 
I  go  to  the  folding-doors.  They  are  open  perhaps  half 
an  inch.  To  me  comes  in  tones  that  smite  me:  "By 
Jove,  Bulger!  had  I  known  I  should  have  been  inter- 
ested in  your  Exterminator  I  should  have  given  you  a 
lower  price  on  quinine,  don't  yer  know?" 

I  look  in,  the  blazing  illumination  dazzles  me.  Then 
something  swims  before  my  eyes ;  for  there,  standing 
in  the  light  by  the  table  decorated  for  fete,  with 
Seraphia  gazing  on  him  as  if  he  were  her  own,  and 
responding  to  the  congratulations  offered  by  the  guests, 

Oh,  God  of  mercy!  The  imported  animal  has 
bitten  me !  Am  I  growing  crazy — my  George ! 

How  I  get  to  my  room  I  don't  know,  but  no  one 
sees  me — thank  heaven  for  that. 

Then  something  comes  in  and  licks  my  face  as  I  lie 
despairing  on  the  bed. 

Oh,  my  heavens,  it  is  Mirie's  uncanny  poodle! 

The  poor  little  beast  pities  me ! 

Abelard  pities  me ! 


BOOK  II. 

THE  BARGAIN  IN  LONDON. 

{.Being  Scraps  from  the  Memoirs  of  Jellybird  Maddox.) 
CHAPTER  IX. 

LITTLE   MIRIE   AND    T.HE   MARQUIS. 

fiulger's  Villa,  August  2d,  1894. 

I  DOV'T  know  as  I  ought  to  give  my  hopinion  in  writ- 
ing of  the  adventures  of  my  unfortunate  master,  it's 
too  ludickerous.  But  the  astonishing  hye-opener  the 
Right  Honorable  George  has  received  this  arternoon 
makes  me  sometimes  think  that  my  evidence  will  be 
valuable  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  I  puts  it  down  for 
future  referring  on  the  witness  stand. 

I'll  agree  to  eat  arsenic  if  he  isn't  a  co-respondent  in 
a  breach  of  promise  suit  by  one  or  t'other  of  those 
Bulger  gals. 

Since  she  is  betrothed  to  'im  I  gives  Miss  Seraphy 
the  title  of  gal  along  with  Miss  Hevelyn,  'cause  I  knows 
she'd  like  it,  if  these  papers  is  used  as  jurisprudence. 

So  without  perambulation  I  perceed  in  my  record  of 
the  afiairs  of  the  Honorable  George  Ramilles  Malplaquet, 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  II 7 

etc.,  Cranmere,  once  in  Her  Majesty's  'Orse  Guards, 
next  travelling  agent  for  Pink,  White  &  Co.,  drugs  and 
chemicals,  and  since  then,  by  the  death  of  his  grand- 
govern'r,  as  he  calls  him,  promoted  to  the  title  that 
his  father  held  before  him  (as  eldest  son  of  the  Mark  is 
of  Fitzminster),  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  by  courtesy;  in- 
vestigate  Debrett,  Burke,  and  hother  hauthorities  on  the 
Haristocracy  of  England. 

When  I  first  had  the  'onor  of  entering  the  service  of 
the  Honorable  George,  he  was  as  high-tooting  a  cornet 
(I  don't  mean  the  hinstrument)  as  ever  pranced 
from  the  'Orse  Guards  up  to  St.  James's,  or  did  duty  at 
Windsor  Castle.  He  had  blood  and  breeding  to  spare, 
but  no  money  to  distribute,  for  his  father,  Hugo  Cressy 
Agincourt  Cranmere,  at  that  time  Viscount  Bar-Sinister, 
was  as  'orsey  a  toff  and  as  hard-up  an  old  reprobate  as 
ever  looked  out  the  windows  of  White's  in  search  of  a 
pretty  ankle  or  a  pleasing  face. 

Old  Bar-Sinister,  who  is  as  downy  as  arrow-root, 
was  only  about  forty-five  at  the  time  I  first  laid 
eyes  on  him,  as  he  used  to  come  lounging  into  George's 
quarters,  and  give  his  son  what  he  called  good  advice. 

He  was  a  rare  'un  at  that ;  that's  about  all  he  did 
give  his  son.  He  had  run  through  the  money  coming 
to  him  as  the  heir  apparent  to  the  Markis  of  Fitz- 
minster, and  his  father,  the  old  Markis,  who  was  one  of 
the  same  kidney,  and  at  that  time  sixty-five  or  seventy, 
had  given  up  signing  checks  for  his  eldest  son  before  I 
ever  knew  'im — perhaps  because  his  'and  was  para- 
lyzed, but  most  probably  because  he  was  tired  of  it. 
Bless  you,  the  old  Markis  hisself  was  head  over 
whiskers  in  debt;  had  spent  everything  in  sight,  and 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  entails,  there  wouldn't  have 
been  anything  for  any  of  those  that  came  after  'im. 

Many  a  time  have  I  'card  Bar-Sinister,  George's 
father,  curse  the  Markis  up  and  down  and  swear  he 


n8  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

was  robbing  'im ;  but  that  didn't  stop  the  Markis's 
expenses;  neither  did  it  Bar-Sinister's  the  son's;  neither 
did  it  the  Honorable  George's,  the  grandson's. 

When  I  first  went  into  service  with  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Cranmere  the  whole  lot  of  'em  was  about  as  badly 
strapped  as  any  noble  family  in  England,  which  is  say- 
ing hall  you  can  for  hanybody,  and  every  day  they 
was  getting  deeper  hin. 

"Ah,  Georgie,  my  boy,"  I  have  often  'card  his 
father  say  when  visiting  the  young  man's  apart- 
mongs  just  off  Sloane  Street,  "why  do  you  smoke 
such  expensive  Havana's  ? "  as  he  filled  'is  pockets 
from  his  son's  cigar  box. 

"Because  you  do,  guv'ner,"  George  would  laugh. 
"I  only  follow  your  example." 

"Why  don't  you  marry  that  demmed  cotton  spin- 
ner's daughter,  Miss  Wolverton,  you  hidiot? "  Bar- 
Sinister  would  growl  sometimes. 

"Because,  by  Heaven,  I  can't  do  it!  She's  cross- 
heyed !"  George  would  say ;  for  the  boy  had  a  wonderful 
hey  for  beauty;  sometimes  I  think  he  should  'ave  been 
a  painter,  he  liked  female  loveliness  so  much.  I've 
know  him  to  go  to  the  same  music  'all  night  after 
night  just  because  some  gal  in  the  ballet  had  a  leg  and 
face  to  suit.  "Besides,  guv'ner,  that  wouldn't  be 
following  your  example,"  his  son  would  laugh. 

Which  was  true,  for  old  Bar-Sinister  hisself  had  mar- 
ried Lady  Claudia  Lackland,  fourth  daughter  of  Lord 
Acreless,  a  gal  of  great  beauty  but  little  tin,  who 
had  died  years  before  broken-hearted  at  Bar-Sinister's 
neglect;  for,  Lord  love  me!  no  exotic  poet  could  give 
points  to  old  Bar-Sinister  in  wickedness. 

Well,  one  day  the  crash  came  of  course !  The  wrong 
'orse  won  the  St.  Ledger;  Ladybird  came  in  second. 
"  There's  nothen  for  me  but  to  sell  hout  the  securities 
my  mother  left  me,"  sighed  the  Honorable  George  as 


THE     LADIES      JUGGERNAUT  1 19 

we  come  'ome  from  Doncastcr.  But  bless  you,  his 
guv'ner  as  trustee  had  been  ahead  of  'im,  and  there 
warnt  no  securities  to  sell  hont. 

Then  George,  pursued  by  duns  and  Shylocks,  throws 
up  his  commission  and,  to  the  'orror  of  his  family, 
goes  into  business.  I  remember  the  hawful  interview 
he  and  'is  father  had  over  this  point. 

"I'll  cut  you  off  with  a  shilling,  Georgie,  my  boy," 
snarls  Bar-Sinister. 

"You've  already  cut  me  off  without  a  farthing,'" 
says  George,  knocking  the  ashes  off  a  'alf  a  crown 
Havana,  for  the  boy  couldn't  give  up  smoking  regalias 
even  if  he  gave  up  his  commission. 

"You're  no  longer  my  son,"  growls  Bar-Sinister, 
savage  as  nitric  acid. 

"That's  demmed  unfortunate  for  you!"  mutters 
George,  cool  as  a  freezing  mixture.  "For  if  I'm  not 
your  son  I  shall  put  you  into  the  dock  to  answer  for 
robbing  me  of  my  mother's  jointure." 

"My  God!  how  can  the  bone  of  my  bone  and  the 
flesh  of  my  carcass  talk  to  me  in  that  way  and  break  his 
old  father's  heart?"  cries  Bar-Sinister,  and  'e  gets  tears 
to  'is  eyes,  for  he  was  mighty  afraid  George  would  per- 
secute 'im  before  the  Queen's  Bench  for  taking  his 
mother's  legacy. 

But  George  is  a  tender  'carted  young  chap ;  that's 
the  reason  I  took  to  him.  And  the  result  of  it  was 
that  young  Cranmere  got  out  of  England  on  a  com- 
mission for  Pink,  White  &  Co.,  to  make  drug  contracts 
for  them. 

Then  knock  me  silly !  how  that  feller  did  cram  over 
chemicals!  What  he  doesn't  know  about  drugs  would 
puzzle  an  Antiseptic.  I've  got  a  wrinkle  or  two  ;,  that 
business  myself  as  far  as  the  halkalis — traces  of  which 
you'll  note  from  my  metaphor  in  my  memories. 

So  together  we  knocked  all  over  the  uninhabitable , 


izo  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

world,  making  contracts  for  gums,  juices,  etc.,  and  he 
becoming  a  business  man. 

Well,  one  day  six  months  ago,  after  enjoying  the 
Hamazon  and  the  Gold  Coast  of  Hafrica  together,  where 
George  had  picked  up  the  fever  and  the  quinine  habit, 
he  came  up  to  the  U.  S.  to  hinvestigate  some  medi- 
cines in  Southern  Florida  ;  and  'ere  his  misfortunes 
culminated.  1  he  blooming  toff  fell  in  love! 

I  knew  it  by  'is  hye  when  he  stopped  in  the  sleep- 
ing car  and  said  he'  wait  there  until  I  brought  'im  his 
cigars. 

And  he  had  reason  to.  Miss  Hevelyn  Bulger  (don't 
fail  to  pronounce  it  Bulg/<f  or  you  won't  get  no  tips 
from  her)  was  the  dossiest  kind  of  gal ;  skin  as  white 
as  vegitable  ivory,  cheeks  that  glowed  with  cochineal 
blushes,  and  posing  for  him  as  beautiful  as  any  Pear's 
soap  advertisement  in  the  London  News. 

I  knew  he  was  knocked  silly  when  he  missed  the 
train  at  Savannah,  U.  S.,  for  he's  a  deep  one,  he  is — 
when  he's  quininized.  The  minute  he  called  for  a 
twenty-one  and  a  quarter  grain  powder  I  knew  he  was 
desperate,  and  when  he  saw  the  gal  was  going  to  miss 
the  train  he  made  up  his  mind  to  miss  it  halso. 

Miss  Hevelyn  Bulger  doesn't  guess  it,  but  George 
had  made  a  quinine  vow  that  he'd  know  her  afore  the 
day  was  out — AND  HE  DID  ! 

He  knew  a  good  deal  about  her ;  more  than  she  sus- 
picioned,  for  I  'card  him  charfing  the  porter  and 
looking  up  her  name  in  the  sleeping-car  plot  afore  she 
sent  the  note  to  him  that  brought  'im  to  her  side. 

Not  that  he  meant  any  sneaky  business — only  love ; 
for  he's  one  of  the  lovingest  dispositions  I  ever  saw. 
He  gets  that,  along  with  hall  his  other  good  qualities, 
from  his  mother — for  his  father  hasn't  any  to  waste  on 
nobody. 

But  I  haven't  time  to  hexpatiate  over  that  Florida 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  121 

smash  hup.  George  took  quinine  like  mad  and  played 
his  cards  for  all  they  was  worth,  for  he's  wonder- 
fully bright  and  smart,  and  quicker  to  act  than  prussic 
acid  when  he's  under  the  hinfluence  of  quinine.  At 
other  times  he's  slow  and  easy  going. 

If  I  may  epitomize  I  would  say  that  hordinarily  the 
Honorable  George  Ramilles  Malplaquet,  etc.,  Cran- 
mere  is  a  fairly  bright,  every-day  young  man  of  the 
hupper  classes.  But  as  he  says  hisself,  "Put  a  dose 
of  quinine  into  me,  Maddox,  and  it's  the  same  as  put- 
ting a  mixture  of  Mach'avelie  or  Romeo  into  me  veins, 
haccording  to  the  strength  of  the  dose. " 

He  took  the  Romeo  dose  when  he  was  in  Florida, 
and  would  'ave  succeeded  very  well  but  some  hinfernal 
influence  knocked  his  love-making  into  a  cocked  hat. 

He  swore  it  was  because  I  hinterrupted  him  at  the 
wrong  times,  but  I  believe  it  was  a  little  female  up 
to  date  kind  of  a  gal  named  Mirie  Armitage;  though 
neither  George  nor  I  were  able  to  discover  'ow  she 
did  it. 

He  was  happy  and  cock-sure  of  his  sweetheart  the 
morning  we  left  for  Southern  Florida ;  but  though  the 
rest  of  her  party  came  on  the  train  Miss  Hevie  Bulger, 
the  Juliet,  didn't  happear,  and,  and  though  he  rote 
to  her,  never  a  blessed  line  did  he  get  hin  retort. 

He  got  so  down  'carted  he  wouldn't  take  quinine, 
and  the  consequence  was  fell  off  in  Romeo  fire  to 
such  an  hextent  that  he  didn't  'ave  the  spirit  to  go 
after  her  and  demand  personal  hexplanations. 

Then,  blow  me  hup!  how  that  daisy  Mirie  Armitage 
tried  to  mash  poor  broken- 'carted  George  in  Tampa — 
tried  to  console  him! 

She  made  tropical  picturs  for  'im  in  the  palm  trees, 
holding  the  graceous  branches  about  her  'ead,  and 
giving  pathetic  effects  with  that  infernal  canine  of  hers 
as  she  calls  Habelard,  and  making  'erself  look  like  a 


122  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

fairy  gal  in  white  Swiss  muslin  and  big  broad  sashes 
and  open-work  stockings  and  het  ceteras  till  she  nearly 
set  me  crazy!  But  she  didn't  knock  'im  out  a  little  bit. 

In  the  hevening  she'd  play  her  great  baby  act  with 
her  mother,  who  wasn't  haverse  to  it — being  a  widder — 
for  you  see  the  little  Armitage  gal  was  just  on  the 
line  between  a  kid  and  a  bud,  as  they  call  'em  in 
Hamerica,  and  she  played  both  parts  as  the  hoccasion 
demanded.  But  George  didn't  care  nothen  for  the 
himp,  and  one  night  on  the  veranda,  when  she  tossed 
'erself  with  childish  kick-about  into  her  mother's  lap, 
a  mass  of  tumbled  'air  and  laughing  blue  hyes,  and  a 
pair  of  feet  and  hankies  as  looked  like  a  skirt  darncer's, 
he  growled  hout:  "  If  the  brat's  sleepy  why  don't  you 
send  her  to  bed?" 

Arter  that  I  think  the  little  himp  fairly  ated  him  ! 

Howsomever,  about  that  time  came  along  the  news 
of  the  old  Markis's  kicking  the  bucket,  and  George  ad 
to  go  back  to  England. 

By  the  death  of  his  father  old  Bar-Sinister  became 
the  Markis  of  Fitzminster,  and  the  Honorable  George 
was  promoted  to  the  Right  Honorable  George  and 
succeeded  in  the  courtesy  title  of  Viscount  Bar-Sinister; 
please  look  in  Burke  for  details. 

As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  hold  country  the  duns  and 
Shylocks  got  to  worrying  George  again,  and  giving  'im 
a  pretty  hard  time  of  it ;  besides,  Pink,  White  &  Co. 
offered,  if  he  would  get  released  from  his  I.  O.  U.  's,  to 
take  him  into  the  firm ;  they  thought  a  title  would  'elp 
'em  in  the  drug  business;  so  the  Right  Honorable 
George  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  was  deuced  hanxious  to 
get  his  debts  paid  in  a  hurry. 

Just  about  this  time,  chappered  by  her  mother,  lit- 
tle Mirie  Armitage  came  hinto  London  court  cycles. 
How  she  got  in  Lord  knows ;  rich  American  gals  halways 
does  get  hin.  I  suppose  she  'ad  letters  or  something 
of  that  kind. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  123 

But  no  sooner  ad  the  Markis,  George's  father, 
put  peepers  on  her,  than  he  became  hattentive;  and  no 
sooner  did  the  little  Armitage  gal — who  between  us  is 
as  pretty  a  little  figger  and  as  insinuating  a  little 
beauty  as  ever  made  an  old  sinner  wipe  'is  hye-glass — 
know  George's  father  was  Markis  of  Fitzminster,  Vis- 
count Bar-Sinister  of  the  Peerage  of  Hengland  and 
Baron  Donnybrook  of  the  Peerage  of  Hireland,  than 
she  put  her  whole  little  soul  hinto  catching  'im,  and 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  do  it ;  when,  as  bad  luck  would 
'ave  it  for  her,  she  hintroduces  the  Markis  to  an 
Hamerican  lady,  the  aunt  of  the  Miss  Hevelyn 
Bulger  who  'ad  played  the  Juliet  to  George's  Romeo 
in  Florida. 

This  lady  was  nosing  round  to  buy  an  English  title, 
and  she,  being  a  business  woman,  came  right  hout  with 
such  a  statement  of  settlement  that  the  Markis 
of  Fitzminster  dropped  little  Mirie  Armitage,  whose 
mother  wasn't  so  prompt,  and  turned  his  hattention 
to  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger;  and  by  pizen!  would  have 
signed  contracts  to  bind  hisself  to  the  Bulger  family  as 
husband  in  the  future,  when  all  this  comes  to  George's 
ears. 

Then  he,  poor  hidiot,  to  'is  own  hundoing,  thinks  it 
was  for  the  niece,  the  gal  who  had  played  the  Juliet  to 
his  Romeo,  that  the  aunt  was  making  the  negotiations. 

Hall  this  came  about  through  little  Miss  Armitage. 

I  can  see  George  now  as  he  received  her  billey  dux 
and  threw  over  an  happointment  he  had  made  at  Pink, 
White  &  Co.'s  about  a  cochineal  contract,  and  went  to 
Lady  Southwood's  garden  party,  for  'is  own  hundoing, 
poor  wretch ! 

I  read  the  note  as  it  lay  on  his  dressing  table  and 
made  a  copy  of  it — arter  he  was  gone.  It  was  in  the 
nicest  fashionable  feminine  'and,  2ach  letter  was  a 
hinch  long,  and  the  capitals  went  two  hinches  hup  and 
down  the  page.  It  read  as  fellers : 


124  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

"You  dear,  naughty  Bar-Sinister:"  Little  Mirie 
knows  the  Henglish  haristocracy  and  treats  'em  as  if 
she  was  a  peeress  in  'er  own  right.  Bless  you,  they 
likes  it!  Just  put  yourself  on  a  level  with 'em,  and 
they'll  chum  with  you.  Bow  and  cringe  to  'em,  and 
my  lord  'em,  they  turns  hup  their  noses  at  you  and 
thinks  you  are  a  nobody.  But  to  return  to  the  letter, 
which  read : 

"  YOU  DEAR,  NAUGHTY  BAR-SlNISTER: 

Why  have  you  not  been  to  see  me  since  I  arrived  in  Lon- 
don ?  I  have  a  little  message  for  you  from  a  young  lady  you 
met  in  Florida,  and  will  give  it  to  you  at  Lady  South- 
wood's  garden  party  to-day.  You  know  you  can  come,  and  I 
know  you  have  an  invitation,  though  you  affect  not  to  like 
Society.  Yours  sincerely, 

MlRABELLE  AURELIA  ARMITAGE." 

That  hinsinuation  about  a  message  from  his  Florida 
sweetheart  sent  George  off  to  Lady  Southwood's 
garden  party  as  quick  as  if  he  had  taken  a  dose  of 
Glauber's  salts. 

I  can  see  him  when  he  came  back  frothing  over  like 
a  seidlitz  powder,  joy  and  rage  beaming  in  his  hye. 
From  his  hextatic  hejaculations  I  got  a  pretty  good 
hidea  of  what  the  little  Armitage  gal  had  told  him. 

For  he  went  raving  round:  "My  darling — jealous  on 
account  of  that  Miss  Webster!  ha!  ha!  ha! — Sent  her 
aunt  over  to  arrange  for  marrying  me — as  proof  of  her 
love ! — and  the  idiot  aunt  makes  a  hideous  mistake  and 
negotiates  with  my  father!  Cuss  'im ! — He  would  marry 
her,  myHevelyn,  would  he? — I'll  stop  him,  by  'eaven! 
I'll  stop  Fitzminster  if  they  settle  a  million  on  'im — 
he  sha'n't  do  it!" 

With  this  George  calls  for  one  of  his  Machavellie 
doses  of  quinine,  twenty-two  and  a  quarter  grains. 
That  hextra  grain  puts  the  very  devil  hinto  him. 

As  soon  as  the  powder  got  working  I  knowed  by  his 
face  he'd  hit  the  plan  to  nail  his  guv'ner. 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  125 

hoff  he  bolts  to  his  father  and  they  had  a  hawful 
lew.  George,  braced  hup  by  quinine,  laid  into  his 
guv'ner  'orrible ;  told  him  if  he  married  Miss  Bulger  he 
would  paieccute  him  before  the  'Ouse  of  Lords  (that's 
the  only  way  you  can  nail  a  Peer  of  the  Realm)  for 
robbing  hinj  of  his  mother's  jinture,  and  bullied  the 
old  Markis  ivto  signing  a  contract  not  to  marry  Miss 
Bulger.  Furthermore  George  made  Fitzminster 
agree  to  get  the  Bulger  gal  for  hisself. 

So  the  result  wa^  that  old  Fitzminster  arranged  a 
contract  for  George,  Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  to  marry 
the  Bulger  gal. 

George  signed  it  )*i  a  jiffy;  Lord  love  ye,  he  was 
so  'appy  he  didn't  wanii  no  settlements,  but  the  Mar- 
quis hinsisted  upon  two  things ;  the  first  was  that  they 
should  pay  George's  deb^s  hintire,  which  Miss  Seraphy 
did  like  a  streak  of  lightning;  second  was  that  they 
should  settle  on  Bar-Sinister  and  his  bride  arter 
marriage  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year,  made  tight  by  an 
interest  in  the  Bulger's  Bile  Hexterminator. 

"Do  you  see  how  I  am  looking  hout  for  your 
hinterests,  you  ungrateful  boy/"  I  heard  Fitzminster 
say  to  his  son. 

So  the  contract  was  made  for  the  Right  Honorable 
George  Ramillies  Malplaquet  Busaco,  etc.,  Cranmere, 
Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  to  marry  Miss  Bulger. 

Bless  you,  George  was  the  'appiest  man  in  the  world 
coming  over  on  the  steamer.  The  only  thing  that 
knocked  his  extasy  was  that  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger, 
who  hung  on  to  'im  like  a  hoyster  does  to  its  shell, 
wouldn't  permit  his  galivanting  with  any  of  the  pretty 
gals  on  the  boat ;  for  George  has  a  great  hye  for  beauty, 
as  I  have  before  remarked.  She  would  'ardly  let 
George  chat  with  the  little  Armitage  gal  who  came 
over  with  us,  as  I  now  suspects,  to  see  the  affair  hout; 
for  now  I  knows  what  the  fairy  demon  was  hafter! 


ia6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"  I  suppose  aunt  Seraphia  means  it  for  the  best," 
Bar-Sinister  would  sigh  sometimes  to  little  sly-puss 
Mirie,  as  they  walked  the  deck  on  moonlight  nights,  for 
bless  you,  when  a  man's  in  the  state  of  Romeo  fever 
that  my  poor  master  was,  he's  got  to  talk  about  the 
gal  he's  sweet  on  to  somebody.  "I  suppose  she  thinks 
she's  doing  the  proper  thing,  keeping  my  hyes  off  other 
young  ladies,  as  if  any  woman  could  make  me  untrue 
to  my  Florida  darling."  Then  he  laughs  'appily  and 
mutters:  "As  if  I  could  think  of  loving  any  one  but 
my  Hevie!" 

For  the  poor  young  chap  thought  he  was  coming 
over  to  marry  Hevelyn,  the  beauty,  when  he  was 
coming  to  marry  Seraphy,  the  aunt,  who  was  fifty  odd 
and  hof  a  masculine  beauty  that,  ad  it  not  been  soft- 
ened by  time,  would  have  been  ferocious — Gad,  how 
she  would  look  at  'im  through  her  specs ! 

When  little  Miss  Armitage's  blue  hyes  caught  Sera- 
phy a-following  after  and  gazing  after  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister,  how  that  artful  dodger  would  laugh  to  herself. 
Sometimes  she  would  come  tripping  hup  to  me  and  tip 
me  a  sov  and  say:  "You  faithful  old  sheep-dog, 
Maddox,  how  (appy  it  must  make  you  to  see  your  mas- 
ter en  route  to  marry  his  Florida  true-love !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  Miss,  "I  would  answer,  "Bar-Sinister 
has  been  so  crazy  with  joy  that  he's  not  been  sea-sick 
this  trip  and  never  lost  a  meal. "  Then  she'd  snicker  as 
pretty  a  little  puss-in-boots  laugh  as  ever  helfin  fay  put 
on  for  man's  knock  out;  for  now  I  am  certain  she  knew 
the  hawful  fate  that  was  ahead  of  poor  Bar-Sinister. 

But  God  'elp  poor  George,  he  didrit  twig  what  was 
ahead  of  him,  and  jollied  over  the  Atlantic  as  dizzy  as 
the  mouse  that  scents  the  toasted  cheese  in  the  trap. 

There  was  honly  one  narsty  coincidence  on  the 
voyage.  We  was  "aunted  by  a  little  Jewey-looking 
feller,  whose  name  I  found  hout  was  Levison. 


THE    LADIES*    JUGGERNAUT.  1 2  7 

At  first  I  twigged  he  -was  a  reporter  come  on 
specially  to  write  us  hup  for  the  Hamerican  papers,  for 
the  Yankee  journals  gives  columns  and  columns  of 
sickening  stuff  to  any  gal  who  weds  a  lordling. 

In  fact,  between  us,  I  thinks  that's  one  of  the  reasons 
that  Yankee  heiresses  likes  to  marry  Henglish  lords. 
Before  they  does,  the  papers  is  hall  pitching  into  'em 
and  their  fathers,  and  saying  their  daddies  is  thieves 
and  nobodies  and  ought  to  be  in  jail;  but  bless  you,  the 
minute  the  gal's  posted  hup  for  the  next  Hinter- 
national  Sweepstakes  with  a  lord  for  the  bridegroom- 
cup,  these  ere  gents  of  the  press  forgets  they've 
been  blackguarding  their  fathers  as  nobodies  and 
descendants  from  butchers,  and  suddintly  discover  the 
family  is  of  very  hancient  horigin  and  had  settled  on 
Plymouth  Rock  about  the  time  of  Columbia. 

But  this  Levison  didn't  turn  out  to  be  a  reporter 
arter  all.  God  knows  what  he  was,  but  he  'aunted 
us.  I  don't  mean  this  for  a  joke,  but  Aunt  Seraphy 
'aunted  us  halso.  Well,  this  Levison  'aunted  George 
until  George  detested  him  worse  than  he  'ated  Seraphy. 

And  when  we  tide  up  at  the  dock  in  New  York,  if 
there  was  two  things  George  'ated  on  earth,  it  was 
little  Levison,  who  kept  trotting  around  after  'im  day 
and  night,  and  Miss  Seraphy,  who  stood  by  him  warning 
im  hoff,  as  it  were,  from  any  beauteous  gal  who  looked 
his  way  and  there  was  a  good  many  who  threw  hyes  at 
Viscount  Bar-Sinister  on  that  trip ;  all  American  gals 
having  a  sort  of  prejudice  in  favor  of  lords.  I  don't 
know  why  they  has  it,  it  ain't  shared  by  their  ludship's 
valets,  as  a  general  thing. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN   EYE-OPENER   FOR   HIS   LUDSHIP. 

So  George  and  me  came  to  Narragansett  and  there 
was  five  reporters  hon  top  of  us  hinside  'alf  an  hour.    J 


t28  THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

knows  the  number  for  I  got  tips  from  hall  of  'em— - 
from  a  quarter  to  a  dollar  per  head.  They  'adn't  taken 
much  notice  of  us  in  Florida  when  we  was //#/'«  Mr. 
Cranmere,  but  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  brought  special 
co-respondents  from  everywhere. 

Two  knites  of  the  quill  came  over  from  Newport 
to  hask  him  why  he  didn't  come  to  that  social  elysium 
direct,  hinsinuating  that  Narragansett  was  a  low  place. 

Newport  despises  Narragansett.  Narragansett  'ates 
Newport  just  as  much  as  the  Dutch  chemist  that  dis- 
covered antipyrine  'ates  the  Dutch  chemist  as  dropped 
on  sulfonal.  Bless  you,  they'd  pizen  each  other 
with  their  own  drugs ! 

But  George  grinned  at  the  agents  of  the  press  and 
said  two  or  three  "Don't  yer  knows,"  and  "Fine 
country,  this's,"  and  the  other  remarks  usual  to  travel- 
ling Englishmen,  when  they  wants  to  make  theirselves 
agreeable,  and  sucked  his  cane  and  sat  on  the  Casino 
lawn,  drinking  Brandy  ponies  out  of  a  tea-cup ;  as  is 
the  fashion  at  Narragansett,  it  being  a  Prohibitory 
place  as  regards  liquor — and  consequently  very  thirsty. 

All  the  time  he  was  gazing  at  the  passing  crowd,  his 
heart  in  his  hyes,  'oping  to  catch  sight  of  his  sweet- 
heart, Miss  Hevelyn. 

But  the  little  Armitage  gal  sat  at  the  same  table  at  the 
Casino  and  took  all  the  trouble  off  George's  'ands  as  to 
the  knites  of  the  quill,  working  hup  her  own  social  glory 
in  as  cute  and  catchy  a  manner  as  ever  I  seed  an  aspirant 
for  social  grandeur  hexhibit;  for,  bless  you,  she  jollied 
with  every  reporter  till  she  made  him  think  she  was  'alf 
in  love  with  him,  and  laughed  and  told  them  she  hex- 
pected  to  marry  a  lord  some  day  and  would  send  'em 
notices  of  her  future  hengagement,  and  chirruped: 
"Bar-Sinister  knows  what  he's  in  Narragansett  for!" 
Then  she  tickeled  George's  nose  with  a  straw  she'd 
been  sucking  sherry  cobbler  through,  to  show  'ow 


THE    LADIES*    JUGGERNAUT.  I2<) 

intimate  she  was  with  the  British  nobility,  as  she 
giggled,  "Everybody  knows  the  beautiful  Miss  Bulger 
has  a  villa  here." 

At  which  George  haw-haw'd  from  very  'appiness  and 
looked  sheepish. 

But  the  knites  of  the  quill  did  know  Miss  Bulger  had 
a  villa  in  Narragansett  and  kept  their  hyes  out  for  her; 
and  one  of  'em  suddintly  says:  "Jingo,  here  she 
comes!" 

Then  I,  who  had  been  standing  near  the  railing,  over- 
hearing their  remarks,  glanced  hup,  and  by  Jove !  there 
she  did  come,  the  beauteous  Miss  Hevelyn,  in  as  know- 
ing a  hequipage  as  ever  lady  drove,  two  plump  cobs 
flying  afore  her,  and  as  cute  a  little  tiger  as  ever  was 
'orsewhipped  sitting  behind  her. 

She  was  arrayed  in  a  cold,  pure,  snowy,  bismuth 
white;  she  had  little  flecks  of  blue  like  cobalt  salts 
a-dancing  from  her  dress,  and  a  contorted  expression 
on  her  face. 

Suddintly  she  sees  me  and  gives  a  start  and  'alf  pulls 
hup  her  team  and  gazes  round  kind  of  frightened 
like;  when  getting  squint  at  Bar-Sinister  her  hyes  light 
hup,  extatic  like.  His  peepers  catch  hers  and  a  dazed 
and  joyous  expression  seems  to  come  into  them. 

Then  suddintly  like  a  flash  something  seemed  to  strike 
her,  and  I  could  see  her  face  grow  pale  as  if  she'd  'ad 
a  dose  of  aconite  hinside  her,  and  a  kind  of  twitching 
hagony  comes  over  her  lips  as  if  strychnine  was  at  work 
on  her  witals. 

Quick  as  a  tetanic  spasm  she  slashes  her  whip 
over  her  cobs'  backs  and  flies  like  wild  hup  the 
road,  nearly  knocking  me  down  as  I  gazed  hastonished 
at  her,  and  most  running  over  a  grass-widder  who  was 
standing  in  happropriate  hattitude  letting  a  young  toff 
in  yachting  costume  tie  a  shoelace  as  had  come 
unloosened.  These  widders  is  great  at  that  at  Narra- 


rjO  THE    LAfilES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

?>y  ginger!  what  an  heffect  it  had  on  George!  He 
didn't  pay  no  more  attention  to  the  reporters  arter  that 
than  he  would  to  so  many  misquiters  on  a  South  Ameri- 
can river,  he'd  grown  so  heager  to  see  her.  Alf  an  hour 
arter  when  the  hinvitation  came  to  take  us  hup  to  the 
Bulger's  villa  he  gave  the  'ackman  double  fare  to  get  us 
there  quick. 

Arriving  at  a  beauteous  place  with  lawns  that  run 
down  to  the  sea  we  were  hushered  into  the  library  to 
meet  the  gal's  father,  as  he  supposed. 

I  wasn't  hushered  in  but  stood — I  couldn't  'elp  it — 
in  a  little  hanteroom  taking  squint  of  their  interview; 
for  they  was  both  so  much  in  a  hurry,  old  Bulger  and 
George,  thai  they  didn't  notice  whether  the  door  was 
closed  or  not. 

Their  meeting  was  hexquisite  and  cordial.  The  old 
gentleman  hembraced  George  and  welcomed  him,  and 
said:  "My  Lord  Bar- Sinister,  the  lady  will  be  in  soon, 
she  ii  hhnpatiently  awaiting  you.  Then  we  can  make 
harrangements  for  the  'appy  ceremony." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  cries  George,  heagerly, 
and  casts  his  hyes  about  for  his  darling,  while  the  old 
geezer  tells  him  as  how  the  contract  is  all  right, 
everything  is  signed,  sealed  and  delivered,  and  'ands 
over  to  him  the  bunch  of  respited  bills  that  Miss  Sera- 
phy  had  paid  for  Bar-Sinister  in  Europe.  This  was  of 
such  dimensions  as  made  George  hopen  his  hoptics  in 
hastonishment.  "  I  didn't  know  there  was  so  many  of 
'em,"  he  stammers. 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,  my  dear  Lud  Bar-Sinister," 
says  old  Bulger,  who  is  a  pretty  nice  old  chap — by 
the  way,  he  gave  me  a  ten  dollar  bill  this  hafternoon. 
"You  know  haristocratic  young  gents  " — I  could  see  the 
Honorable  George  quiver  as  he  said  "gents  " — "never 
keen  much  account  of  'ow  you  throw  away  your  cash 
and  the  bills  pile  up  on  you.  I  know  it  by  my  daughter 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  131 

Hevie.  By  Goliah!  she  has  no  hidea  how  she  falls  on 
my  checkbook,  God  bless  her,"  and  the  tears  comes 
hinto  the  old  geezer's  peepers  as  he  talks  hof  his  daugh- 
ter, and  tears  comes  hinto  George's  hyes  also  as  he 
hears  her  father  speak  of  the  gal  he  loves. 

"  God  bless  her,"  mutters  George,  "  where  is  she?  " 
Then  'earing  a  noise  houtside  he  suddintly  jumps  up 
and  looks  out  of  the  window  'oping  to  get  a  glance  of 
his  Hevelyn. 

But  as  he  looks,  he  starts  and  glares  and  rubs  his  hye- 
glass  and  chuckles:  "What  is  it?  " 

"What  is  it?"  says  Bulger,  coming  hup  to  his  side 
and  tapping  George  on  the  shoulder,  playfully.  "What 
is///  My  dear  Bar-Sinister,  that  is  your  future  wife, 
my  sister,  Miss  Seraphy  Bulger!  " 

At  this  George  gives  a  'orrid  gasp,  like  as  if  he  'ad 
the  death  rattle  in  the  throat,  and  drops  comertoes 
into  a  near-by  chair.  With  this,  I  squints  out  to  see 
what  had  hit  him  so  'ard,  and  when  I  looked  hout  I 
pitied  him ! 

There  was  Miss  Seraphy,  spectacled  and  in  bloomers, 
riding  a  bisycul,  smiling  at  George  and  kissing  her  'and 
at  him ! 

And  what  a  sight  she  was!    Pen  cannot  describe  it! 

She  didn't  look  like  a  man,  she  didn't  look 
like  a  woman;  she  looked  more  like  a  wax  figgcr 
of  hold  age  on  a  spree;  and  every  time  she'd  kiss  her 
'and  to  George,  he'd  reel  and  gasp,  "  Ah-h! — By  Jove! 
— Awfully  kind — don't  yer  know — Oh-h!  Quite  a  little 
romantic  surprise — By  Jingo !  "  Haw-hawing,  ho-hoing 
and  he-heing  and  chuckling  to  hisself  like  maniacs  does 
on  the  stage. 

Then  he  suddintly  gives  a  kind  of  fainting  gasp  and 
mutters:  "  Could  you  give  me  a  B.  &  S.  quick?  " 

"Certainly,"  says  the  old  gentleman,  and  rings  the 
bell;  and  while  this  is  being  brought  him  I  look  in  and 


132  THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT. 

see  George  trying  to  sneak  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
and  get  a  quinine  powder  to  put  it  into  the  brandy. 

So  I  runs  in  and  says:  "You  are  faint,  my  lord;  1 
'card  the  bell,"  and  when  the  B.  and  S.  came  I  fixed 
a  Machaveli's  quinine  dose. 

A  minute  after  he  had  strength  enough  in  a  kind  of 
crazy  way  after  he  had  got  the  medicine,  to  laugh  sort 
of  'isterical  when  Seraphy  came  into  the  room  and 
looked  at  'im  through  her  spectacles  so  as  it  frightened 
George — she  loved  him  so! 

"  As  you  remarked,  my  lord,"  says  old  Bulger,  "it 
is  quite  a  romantic  surprise.  What  a  flirtation  you 
must  'ave  had  on  the  steamer." 

"Then  everything  is — is  settled?"  mutters  George, 
a  feller  do  see  look  in  his  hye. 

"Of  course;  'ere  are  your  bills,  I  O  U's,  etc., 
all  respited,"  says  Bulger.  "Here  is  the  contract 
giving  the  'appy  pair  an  income  of  ten  thousand  punds 
a  year,  secured  by  a  fourth  interest  in  the  Bulger's  Bile 
Exterminator,  and  there  is  your  future  bride,  my  dear 
Bar-Sinister.  I  wish  you  'appiness,"  and  he  shakes 
George's  hand,  smiling  and  'appy,  and  didn't  know  he 
was  dooming  the  poor  chap  to  despair  unutterable. 
Then  he  laughs:  "Kiss  her,  me  boy,  kiss  her!"  and 
rubs  his  'ands;  sometimes  I  think  like  a  fiend,  for  he 
seems  to  rather  henjoy  the  hinterview. 

But  Bar-Sinister  when  he's  got  a  Machavelish  dose  of 
quinine  hinto  him  is  the  deepest  man  in  the  world. 
He  pulls  hisseif  together,  laughing:  "That's  right, 
that's  the  way  I  like  to  'ave  you  talk — business,  money, 
cash!  I'm  a  business  man  first  and  a  lud  afterwards. 
When  I  come  to  America  I  drop  the  lud  and  am  only 
business.  This  is  a  business  kiss,  Seraphia,"  and  he 
goes  up  to  her  and  I  see  him  shudder,  but  he  kisses 
her — not  perhaps  where  she  would  have  liked,  but  right 
on  the  forehead.  Then  he  looks  at  the  bills  in  a 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  133 

knocked  out  kind  of  way  and  I  'ear  him  mutter  to 
hisself :  ' '  Noblesse  oblige!' ' 

That's  what  they  almost  all  of  'em  mutters  when 
they're  being  condemned  to  death  in  history,  "  No- 
blesse oblige."  That's  what  they  says  to  theirselves 
when  they  lose  a  'undred  thousand  on  the  Derby  and 
pays  their  gambling  debts  but  forgets  their  tailors  and 
washerwomen — ' '  Noblesse  oblige ! "  That's  what  they 
says  when  they  runs  away  with  another  feller's  wife, 
and  swears  in  a  court  of  justice  they  never  set  hyes  on  the 
woman — "Noblesse  oblige !  "  That's  what  they  ejacu- 
lates when  they  wants  to  do  anything  particular  'orrid 
and  hidiotical — "  Noblesse  oblige!  " 

I've  been  hinvestigating  the  affair,  but  I  can't  tell 
what  it  means;  sometimes  I  thinks  it's  a  hoath  at 
their  own  foolishness;  sometimes  I  thinks  it's  a 
prayer  to  'Eaven;  sometimes  I  thinks  it's  a  sort 
of  fetich  like  they  has  in  Hafrica  for  the  particular 
use  of  the  haristocracy  and  the  nobility.  I  hit  a 
hackman  one  day  who  was  particular  cheeky,  and  re- 
marked "  Noblesse  oblige!  "  But  it  didn't  work  in  my 
case.  "  I'll  hoblige  ye!  "  cabby  said,  and  up  and  at 
me,  and  in  two  rounds  I  was  out  of  it.  "Noblesse 
oblige  "  honly  works  with  the  haristocracy. 

This  time  it  didn't  work  with  George,  for  Seraphy 
gave  him  a  kiss  that  made  him  quiver  from  head  to 
'eels  and  whispered,  "You  darling  duck!  " 

After  that  when  Bar-Sinister  looked  at  her  he  trem- 
bled, hespecially  when  he  gazed  at  her  boots;  they  was 
so  determined  that  he  knew  she  would  fight  for  what 
she'd  got. 

But  finally  the  hinterview  came  to  an  end,  and  I  got 
him  to  his  rooms — magnificent  apartmons ;  but  every 
time  he'd  gaze  at  them  receipted  bills — and  what  a  pile 
of  them  there  was! — he'd  mutter  to  hisself  "  Noblesse 
oblige,"  and  look  a  pictur  of  despairing  hagony.  But 


134  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

lawks  bless  you  he  'ated  the  look  of  'em.  By  cutlets! 
we  'adn't  been  in  the  room  a  minute  before  he  cussed 
'em,  and  tossed  'em  into  a  drawer  as  if  he  wished  they 
was  hoff  his  mind.  Then  I  gave  him  another  Machi- 
volly  (I  don't  know  hexactly  how  to  spell  this  name) 
dose  of  quinine  in  his  room,  and  as  I  dressed  him 
for  dinner,  every  now  and  then  he'd  throw  up  his  'ands 
and  groan,  and  mutter  "Noblesse  oblige!" 

Well,  hinspirated  by  "Noblesse  oblige, "  and  quinine 
he  pulled  hisself  together. 

I  rigged  him  out,  and  he  went  down  to  a  swell  din- 
ner party  given  in  honor  of  his  betrothal  to  the  future 
Lady  Bar-Sinister.  Whenever  I  mentioned  the  future 
Lady  Bar-Sinister,  when  I  was  a-dressing  of  'im,  mas- 
ter would  nearly  go  under. 

But  lawks!  George  goes  down  'igh  and  savage,  and 
I  follows  arter  him,  standing  round  the  corridors,  ready 
to  give  him  a  dose  of  quinine  if  he  is  taken  sudden,  for 
without  it  I  fear  he  might  burst  hout  and  throw  the  whole 
thing  hover,  hespecially  when  Miss  Seraphy  takes  his 
harm  so  cheerful  and  beams  on  him  through  her  specs 
— how  he  'ates  her  specs — and  hintroduces  him  to  the 
young  ladies  of  the  'ouse  party;  Miss  Ruth  Way- 
back,  of  Boston,  and  Miss  Arorer  Tolliver  Johnson, 
of  Virginie,  two  deuced  fine  girls. 

During  this,  little  Mirie  goes  hinto  hexplosions  of  hin- 
nocent  laughter  in  a  corner,  where  she  has  got  two  or 
three  toffs  round  her  and  is  making  herself  particular 
agreeable  to  the  swellest  of  the  lot,  Childers  Winthrop, 
who  has  the  reputation  of  being  the  most  Puritan  blue- 
blooded  sport  in  the  country,  and  little  Arvid  de  Polac, 
who  is  doing  the  heavy  from  Paris ;  but  bless  you,  the 
butler  tells  me  he  is  an  hagent  for  French  wines,  honly 
he  hasn't  got  found  out  yet.  Though  I  twigged  during 
the  dinner  party  that  he  suggested  to  Mr.  Bulger  to 
border  fifty  cases  of  Eszterhazy  Sec  from  New  York; 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  13$ 

for,  bless  you,  young  Arvid  de  Polac  never  takes 
borders  hisself. 

They  has  halso  in  the  house  Baron  Munkaczy,  the 
'Ungarian  from  Newport. 

To-morrow  when  the  news  gets  over  there  that  the 
Bulgers  has  got  a  right  down  Henglish  lord  at  the 
villa,  Mr.  Jonathan,  the  butler  informs  me,  we'll  'ave 
any  quantity  of  the  Newport  swells  hover  here,  their 
specialty  being  foreign  nobility ;  Narragansett's  being 
gals  in  French  bathing  undresses. 

In  my  usual  insinivating  way,  I  made  myself  en  f  am i/e 
with  the  butler  and  the  other  hupper  servants;  the 
butler  has  showed  me  where  the  private  liquers  is  on 
store  for  the  privileged. 

About  this  time  dinner  was  announced,  and  they  all 
goes  in  to  as  dossy  a  feed  as  I  ever  hadmired,  not  baring 
Belgravia  or  Kensington,  and  I  keep  wandering  round 
the  big  'all  and  keeping  an  ear  hopen  for  Bar-Sinister, 
thinking  he  may  want  another  quinine  powder. 

Well,  the  banquet  was  about  half  hover,  when  some- 
thing hawf ul  'appened ! ! 

I  was  a-wandering  round,  the  lights  was  turned  down 
in  most  of  the  rooms,  for  the  night  was  hottish,  when 
hup  flies  a  pony  pheaton  to  the  door  and  hout  steps  the 
beauteous  Miss  Hevelyn. 

She  'adn't  been  down  to  the  dinner  party;  her  maid 
Elise  hcd  told  me  her  young  missus  was  under  the 
weather. 

I  sees  Miss  Hevelyn  come  in,  and  hinstead  of  going 
hup  to  her  apartmon,  she  walks  hinto  one  of  the 
parlors  and  looks  through  a  pair  of  folding  doors  hinto 
the  dining  room.  Perhaps  George's  voice  had  caught 
her,  for  he  had  been  'igh  and  mighty  this  evening,  try- 
ing, I  thinks,  to  drink  despair  hout  of  'im  with  wine  as 
well  as  quinine. 

Anyway,  Miss  Hevelyn  looks 


136  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

I  don't  know  what  she  seed;  but  she  give  a  little 
sort  of  a  gasping  sigh  like  birds  gives  when  you  wring 
their  necks,  and  most  fainted.  I  don't  think  she  would 
'ave  got  hup  the  stairs  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  'elp. 
She  was  so  knocked  out  she  didn't  know  that  I  'elped 
her  up  to  her  room. 

Lay  yer  forty  shinners  to  a  quid,  at  this  'ere  minute 
she  thinks  she  walked  hup  stairs  with  'er  own  blessed 
legs. 

Well,  arterwards,  when  master  came  in  from  the 
dinner  party,  I  told  him  what  had  'appened. 

"Does  she  love  me?"  he  mutters,  for  I  had  given 
him  another  dose  of  quinine  and  he  was  blooming 
smart.  "Is  it  some  'orrible  joke  upon  us?  What 
the  devil  does  it  mean?  "  Then  he  looked  at  the  drawer 
what  'eld  that  big  bunch  of  knocked  out  I  O  U's,  and 
shivered,  "  Noblesse  oblige !  "  and  went  most  crazy  and 
got  to  cussing  hisself  and  crying  out  against  Seraphy. 
"Maddox,"  he  moaned,  "she's  terrible;  she  kissed 
me!  She's  trapped  me;  she  owns  me!  She's  as  jealous 
as  a  tarrier.  Maddox,  when  I  think  of  my  wrongs 
I'm — I'm  glad  I'm  going  to  marry  her.  When  I'm  'er 
'usband,  Maddox,  I  feel  like  weeping  for  her — she  will 
be  so  demned  miserable  !  " 

Arter  a  turn  he  calms  down  a  bit  and  I  gets  'im  to 
bed. 

As  I  rites  I  can  'ear  him  groaning  now ! 

As  I  rites  little  Mirie  Harmitage,  whose  rooms  are 
near  us,  just  round  the  next  corner,  is  playing  on  her 
banjo  and  singing  to  the  moon  merry  little  love  chant- 
sons.  Sometimes  I  think  she's  a  fiend  incarnadine, 
'cause  now  I  knows  what  was  in  the  little  demon's  mind 
in  England,  how  she  laid  her  plans  and  won  her  little 
game.  For,  by  causing  George  to  bust  up  and  destroy 
the  contract  of  marriage  his  father,  the  old  markis, 
was  making  with  Miss  Bulger,  the  markis  was  left 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  137 

hopen  to  marry  her,  which  is  hexactly  what  little  Mirie 
Armitage  wants.  By  contracting  George  and  binding 
him  by  the  payment  of  his  debts  and  a  big  lot  of  money 
down,  to  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger,  George  was  pervented 
forever  from  marrying  his  Florida  gal,  Miss  Hevie  Bul- 
ger; so  the  little  himp  knocked  two  birds  on  the  'ead 
with  one  stone.  She  got  vengeance  on  Bar-Sinister  for 
turning  hup  his  nose  at  her,  and  she  has  the  markis 
left  hopen  to  marry  her  and  make  her  a  peeress  of 
England. 

But,  knock  me  silly!  how  did  she  separate  the  beau- 
teous Miss  Hevelyn  and  George  down  in  Florida  when 
they  was  cooing  together  like  two  turtle  doves? 

That  I  'ave  not  been  hable  to  guess  yet;  that  Bar- 
Sinister,  braced  hup  by  quinine,  has  never  been  able 
to  helucidate. 

Hall  I  knows  is  that  now,  as  matters  stand,  George 
is  a-groaning  in  his  sleep,  in  the  next  room,  in  despera- 
tion !  Miss  Hevelyn,  one  passage  away,  is  knocked  out 
and  groggy  with  love ;  Seraphia  Bulger  is  sleeping  her 
old  maid  sleep  proudly  triumphant  and  dreaming  of  her 
George  and  Qupid;  and  little  Mirie  Armitage,  dear, 
artless  little  Mirie,  is  singing  her  prettiest  banjo  solo, 
arter  the  manner  of  Christy's  minstrels,  hon  the  balcony 
outside  her  room,  and  looking  hup  to  the  moon  as  sen- 
tentious as  if  she  was  a  blooming  hangel. 

"Wow-  W^W/.WE-OUGH  ! " 

I  'ears  the  whining  of  her  cussed  cur. 

It  is  that  demned  Abelard  agoing  to  make  a  night  of 

it: 


BOOK  III. 

THE   FRENZY  AT   NARRAGANSETT. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
"MY  YOUNG  MAN  !  " 

THE  next  morning  none  but  a  magician  would  guess 
that  in  Mr.  Bulger's  magnificent  villa,  Sea  View,  Narra- 
gansett  Pier,  such  heart-tearing  episodes  had  been 
transacted  the  day  before,  as  have  been  recorded  by 
Maddox,  valet  to  the  Right  Honorable  George  Cran- 
mere,  Viscount  Bar-Sinister. 

Miss  Evelyn  Bulger,  the  beautiful  hostess  of  the 
assembled  house  party,  appears  in  the  breakfast  room 
as  blithesome  and  gay  as  any  belle  at  Narragansett ; 
which  if  not  the  most  exclusive  is  probably  the  most 
dashing,  and  certainly  not  the  most  demure,  of  Ameri- 
can watering  places. 

There  is  perhaps  a  trace  of  hauteur  on  the  face  of 
the  exquisite  young  hostess  as  she  greets  the  Right 
Honorable  George  in  the  crowded  breakfast  room. 

She  murmurs:  "Delighted  to  meet  you  and  re-wel- 
come you  to  America  as  my  aunt's  fiance,  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister.  I  believe  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in 
Florida  last  winter.  You  were  then  Mr.  Cranmere,  I 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  139 

remember!"  Miss  Evelyn  places  a  little  languid 
emphasis  on  the  "believe"  and  "remember"  as  she 
favors  Bar-Sinister  with  a  veiled  glance  and  the  hand 
of  hospitality. 

41  Ya-as  !  Thanks  awfully  for  remembering  me,  Miss 
Bulger.  I  was  afraid  you  had  forgotten  me,  don't  yer 
know  ? "  returns  George,  who  has  swallowed  a 
Machiavelian  powder  from  the  hand  of  the  faithful 
Maddox. 

Then  the  two  gaze  at  each  other;  for  one  second 
nonchalantly,  the  next,  love's  memories  brighten  both 
their  eyes. 

George  is  looking  even  more  dashing  and  fresher  than 
he  did  in  Florida;  though  perchance  a  trifle  more  Eng- 
lish, his  face  having  lost  a  portion  of  its  tropical  bronze. 
He  is  the  same  George  Cranmere  the  girl  has  dreamt 
of  ever  since  she  fled  from  him. 

As  for  Evie,  under  the  discipline  of  passion  her  face 
has  become  more  spirituelle ' ;  and  she  has  that  rare 
brunette  beauty  that  grows  in  loveliness  as  it  becomes 
mor'e  delicate.  Her  whole  appearance  would  be  ethe- 
real were  it  not  for  the  brilliant,  almost  vindictive, 
vivacity  that  lights  her  countenance ;  this  is  displayed 
even  in  her  dress,  for  the  girl  has  arrayed  herself  to 
recall  the  past — and  is  a  souvenir  of  Florida. 

She  is  in  a  costume  that  gives  her  the  dreamy  languor 
of  the  tropics,  the  heat  of  this  August  day  permitting 
a  mass  of  shimmering,  snowy,  floating  stuff  to  be  gath- 
ered about  her  lithe  figure  and  bound  at  the  waist  by  a 
pure  white  satin  scarf,  to  grant  many  charming  hints  of 
the  graceful  beauties  of  the  form  it  drapes  yet  outlines. 
Two  dewy  blush  rose-buds  fluttering  upon  her  maiden 
bosom  give  the  only  color  to  the  picture  she  makes, 
save  when  from  beneath  the  light  laces  of  her  skirt  flit 
little  feet  slippered  and  hosed  in  the  same  delicate 
hue. 


140  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Her  eyes  of  soft  hazel  by  their  glances  give  George 
some  terrible  twinges  of  recollection,  and  there  is  a 
pathetic  look  in  his  face  as  he  mutters  :  "By  Jove  ! 
When  I  look  at  you,  you  make  me  think  Florida 
was  but  yesterday  !  "  British  nonchalance  and  the 
cruel  position  in  which  he  is  placed  cannot  entirely 
crush  down  the  sigh  that  floats  between  his  white 
teeth  as  he  looks  on  the  dazzling  beauty  of  this  girl  he 
has  loved,  does  love,  and  will  love!  He  knows  this 
now — more  than  ever  since  he  fears  he  has  lost  her. 

But  the  young  lady  has  made  up  her  mind  to  torture 
him,  and  she  murmurs  lightly:  "How  impressionable 
you  are  !  Florida  seems  to  me  as  distant  as  if  it  were 
in  the  last  century." 

"Don't  yer  know,  you  rather  alarm  me,"  says  George 
in  contemplative  but  savage  tones,  Evie's  speech  having 
made  him  fora  moment  vindictive.  "I  say,  how  old 
yer  must  feel." 

Would  it  have  made  either  of  them  happier  if  the 
girl  knew  that  George,  as  he  shaved  himself  this  morn- 
ing, has  muttered  in  piteous  tones  to  Maddox  that  for 
tu'pence  he  would  cut  his  demned  throat;  or  if  Bar- 
Sinister  could  have  gazed  upon  the  secrets  of  beauty's 
bedroom  and  discovered  the  imprints  of  Evie's  pearly 
teeth  in  her  dressing  case  door,  where  she  had  bitten  it 
in  trying  to  calm  her  spirit  the  preceding  night  ? 

But  neither  of  them  has  time  for  introspection, 
for  the  room  is  quite  full  of  people  who  are  hungry,  and 
breakfast  is  on  the  table. 

As  they  sit  down,  in  comes  Seraphia  proud  as  a  pea- 
cock, but  more  modest  than  that  strutting  bird.  She 
blushes  when  any  one  looks  at  her,  but  over  her  diffi- 
dence is  a  good-natured  smile  that  makes  her  very  spec- 
tacles gleam ;  though  there  is  an  expression  of  dissap- 
pointment,  almost  of  reproach,  upon  her  face  as  she 
gazes  at  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  her  betrothed,  Vis- 
count Bar-Sinister. 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  141 

For  poor  Seraphiahas  been  haunting  the  corridors  all 
the  morning  to  catch  this  young  gentleman  for  betrothal 
greeting,  and  would  have  gained  her  wish  but  for  the 
watchful  Maddox,  who  has  suddenly  whispered :  "My 
lud,  she's  just  gone  hinto  the  library,  now's  your  time — • 
Scoot!"  At  which  the  Honorable  George  has  skipped 
agilely  down  the  oaken  stair  and  slipped  into  the  break- 
fast room,  where,  surrounded  by  the  house  party,  he  is 
secure  from  sweetheart  greetings;  especially  as  the 
company  is  large  and  the  young  ladies  of  it  have  a 
habit  of  lingering  in  groups  about  Bar-Sinister,  a  lord 
not  having  much  chance  of  solitude  in  an  American 
watering  place,  its  belles  being  too  anxious  to  know  if 
he  has  brothers. 

"Oh,  Lord  Bar-Sinister,"  says  Miss  Wayback,  as 
they  sit  down  at  the  breakfast  table,  "you  must  bring 
over  your  brother  to  be  your  best  man  ! " 

At  which  Seraphia,  with  sudden  blush,  taps  George 
upon  the  shoulder,  then  covers  her  face  with  her  hand 
and  flutters:  "Please  don't  speak  of  it!" 

"I  should  be  most  happy  to  accommodate  you,  Miss 
Wayback, "remarks  George,  "but  I  haven't  a  brother, 
unfortunately  for  him.  Judging  by  myself,  I  believe 
you  young  ladies  would  make  him  very  comfortable 
over  here,  don't  yer  know?" 

"  No  brother  ?"  mutters  Ruth,  in  a  disconsolate  tone, 
to  the  intense  rage  of  Mr.  Winthrop,  who  sits  beside 
her  and  loves  her. 

"  No  younger  brother?"  laughs  Mirie,  who  is  making 
a  very  comfortable  breakfast  opposite.  "What  a  pity 
there's  no  more  like  you,  isn't  it,  Evie?"  There  is  a 
fairy-like  emphasis  upon  the  last  that  makes  both  her 
victims  writhe. 

"No,  but  I've  got  a  cousin  who  may  suit,"  replies 
Bar-Sinister,  grinding  his  teeth  over  a  mutton  chop — 
he  is  delighted  he  is  eating,  as  it  gives  him  a  chance  to 


142  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

grind  his  teeth  unobserved — "young  Marjoribanks,  of 
the  Second  Life  Guards.  He'll  be  a  lord  some  day  if 
four  cousins  and  two  uncles  die.  Perhaps  he'll  answer. 
Shall  I  bring  him  over?" 

"Oh  do,  cable  him  at  once,"  cries  Miss  Wayback. 
"  It  would  be  delightful." 

"  Cablt  him!"  screams  Seraphia.  Then  fearful 
blushes  run  over  her  and  she  gasps:  "  Is  the  time  so 
short,  George?"  and  goes  into  a  bashful  spasm  at 
which  there  is  a  general  smile. 

"It  needn't  be,"  replies  Bar-Sinister,  grimly.  "Be- 
sides," he  interjects  this  nervously,  "I  have  got  an 
uncle  and  also  a  father."  Here  he  looks  at  Mirie  and 
suggests:  "  Shall  I  bring  him  over  to  do  the  paternal 
act?" 

At  which  little  Mirabelle  dallies  with  her  omelet 
gracefully  and  says :  "I  dare  you !  If  you  do,  /V/  marry 
him. "  For  this  child  of  nature  and  art  has  a  playful 
way  of  meeting  attacks  straight  from  her  dimpled 
shoulder  and  counters  with  the  precision  of  a  cham- 
pion pugilist. 

This  idea  not  being  particularly  to  the  taste  of  his 
lordship,  he  devotes  himself  to  his  coffee  so  suddenly 
that  he  has  a  fit  of  coughing  at  which  Seraphia  grows 
pale. 

Then  the  breakfast  runs  on  in  the  way  breakfasts 
generally  do  in  country  houses  where  the  guests  have 
plenty  to  talk  about,  sufficient  to  eat  and  drink  and 
haven't  had  opportunity  to  bore  each  other. 

Miss  Evelyn,  occupied  by  her  duties  as  hostess,  has 
but  little  time  for  anything  save  general  conversation. 
She  says  a  few  words  to  young  Arvid  de  Polac  about 
the  next  polo  match  at  Newport,  in  which  he  is  to  take 
a  hand ;  she  has  a  little  conversation  with  Mr.  Childers 
Winthrop  over  the  cruise  of  the  New  York  Yacht  Club, 
in  which  his  yacht  will  sail ;  she  has  a  laugh  or  two  with 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  143 

Uaron  Munkaczy  over  the  latest  bans  mots  he  has  brought 
from  Paris;  but  still  she  chances  to  note  that  George's 
style  of  conversation  has  greatly  changed  from  that  of 
Florida. 

This  young  nobleman  seems  to  be  continually  harp- 
ing on  business  in  almost  an  offensive  way,  at  all  events 
in  a  manner  that  makes  Seraphia  decidedly  uneasy. 
She  wishes  her  fiance*  to  appear  only  the  aristocrat. 
"By  Jove! "  he  says,  "did  I  ever  tell  how  I  did  Jonas 
Ripley,  the  Polo-Pony  Liniment  Man,  in  Florida  on  a 
contract  for  chloral — did  him  up  brown,  put  him  to 
sleep  with  his  own  drug,"  and  goes  into  a  bragging, 
self-laudatory  account  of  his  Florida  transaction  with 
the  astute  Jonas  that  makes  Abner  Bulger  at  the  head 
of  the  table  chuckle,  and  call  out:  "Bravo!  Bravo! 
Did  him  up!  That's  right!  Do  up  all  the  rival  patent 
medicines  in  the  country!" 

"Do  yer  know,"  replies  George,  "since  I've  an 
interest  in  Bulger's  Exterminator  I  think  I  can  make 
very  good  contracts  for  you  with  Pink,  White  &  Co., 
of  which  I  am  the  junior  partner." 

"You're  in  business?"  ejaculates  Arvid  de  Polac, 
in  supercilious  astonishment. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  we're  all  of  us  going  into  business 
across  the  water,  don't  yer  know?  There's  Lord  Cam- 
eron, he's  in  wines.  He  told  me  he  had  an  agent  over 
in  Newport,  do  yer  know?"  At  which  young  Arvid 
grows  red  as  his  own  claret  and  devotes  himself  to  the 
good  things  of  the  meal,  of  which  there  are  enough  to 
delight  a  sybarite ;  the  table  being  decked  with  flowers, 
and  the  whole  appearance  of  the  Bulger  villa  that  of 
continuous  fttc. 

The  day  is  beautiful,  the  breeze  from  the  sea  soft, 
the  sun  has  driven  away  all  traces  of  Narragansett  fog; 
Jn  fact,  as  Miss  Aurora  Taliaferro  Johnson  remarks, 
"  it  is  just  the  day  for  a  dip  in  the  surf." 


144  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Yes,  it  will  soon  be  the  bathing  hour,"  returns 
Seraphia  with  determination,  and  rises  from  the  table « 
for  she  is  anxious  to  get  tete-a-tete  with  the  young 
gentleman  sitting  by  her  side. 

Then  the  company  drift  out  tipon  the  verandas  to 
lounge  about  until  it  is  time  for  the  beach,  the 
tarty  breaking  up  into  little  groups.  But  Seraphia  s 
looked  for  tete-a-tete  does  not  take  place,  as  Miss 
Mirie  Armitage,  from  no  higher  impulse  than  a  Yankee 
would  denominate  as  "pure  cussedness,"  has  deter- 
mined upon  "chevying  up"  the  Honorable  George 
and  making  Seraphia  feel  the  full  weight  of  her  fifty 
years;  and  Miss  Evelyn  Valle  Bulger  has  decided  to 
show  how  exquisitely  beautiful  and  fascinating  she  can 
be,  because  she  doesn't  wish  George  to  escape  seeing 
the  loveliness  he  has  lost. 

She  knows  now  that  had  it  not  been  for  her  own 
reckless,  jump-in-the-dark  act,  tossing  away  the  un- 
known Lord  Bar-Sinister  before  she  had  ever  seen  him, 
that  she  would  now  be  occupying  Seraphia's  shoes, 
which,  despite  their  size,  appear  to  her  as  if  they  might 
be  very  pleasant  number  fours.  She  guesses  now  that 
George  came  over  to  marry  her,  not  her  aunt;  that 
was  the  reason  he  had  jumped  at  the  contract.  Sera- 
phia had  told  her  all  that,  just  before  she  had  caught 
sight  of  those  awful  receipted  bills,  the  record  of 
his  debauchery.  She  could  forgive  George,  Miss 
Webster  in  Florida — that  was  not  a  vicious  flirtation, 
even  though  it  had  caused  her  to  flee  from  him  and  the 
land  of  palm  trees.  But  his  expenditures  brand  George 
Cranmere,  Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  forever  as  a  man  to 
whom  she  would  not  dare  to  trust  her  happiness — 
lecause  she  loves  him  ! 

"The  more  I  adored  him,"  sighs  the  girl  to  herself, 
"the  more  unhappy  he  would  make  me.  Those,  bills 
are  the  sign  manual,  not  of  the  light  frivolity  of  careless 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  145 

youth,  but  of  the  confirmed  and  continuous  libertinage 
of  the  roue".     Were  he  free  I  would  never  be  his!  " 

Still  she  wishes  him  to  know  the  value  of  her  own 
fair  self  that  he  has  lost  forever.  In  her  agony  she 
will  attack  every  one,  even  poor  Seraphia,  who  has 
worked  so  hard  to  get  for  her  a  title ;  proud  Seraphia, 
who  is  now  enjoying  her  first  engagement. 

It  is  with  these  views  that  Miss  Mirabelle  Armitage 
taking  her  best  pose  on  the  veranda,  and  Miss  Evelyn 
Valle  Bulger,  striving  to  look  as  she  did  on  her  last 
day  with  him  in  Florida,  find  themselves  near  Bar- 
Sinister,  who  seems  very  happy  in  their  company,  as 
this  saves  him  a  tete-a-tete  with  Seraphia. 

"You  don't  mind  a  cigar,  I  suppose?"  he  remarks, 
producing  a  weed,  proceeding  to  light  up,  and  taking 
convenient  chair  between  the  two  young  ladies. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  answers  Evie.  Then,  in  spite  of 
herself,  she  says,  a  little  twinge  rippling  over  her  face : 
"You  remember  I  enjoyed  it  in  Florida!  " 

"So  did  I,'"  adds  Mirie,  promptly.  "You  have  my 
permission  also.  But  I  should  advise  you  to  gradually 
drop  the  habit." 

"Drop  the — the  habit?"  This  is  a  gasp  of  aston- 
ishment from  Bar-Sinister. 

"  Yes.  Seraphia  detests  cigar  smoke,  and  you  know 
you  wouldn't  make  her  unhappy  for  the  world.  There's 
nothing  like  educating  yourself  to  matrimony  gradually 
before  it  comes." 

"By  Jove!  Seraphia  had  better  educate  herself  a 
little,"  remarks  George,  ruefully;  and  inwardly  re- 
solves, if  despair  comes  upon  him  in  the  shape  of  a 
honeymoon  with  Seraphia,  that  he  will  surround  him- 
self with  a  continual  cloud  of  Havana  fumes  for  pro 
tection  from  his  bride's  attentions.  ' 

"I  hope  you  enjoyed  yourself  this  morning,  Lord 
Bar-Sinister,"  queries  Evie,  affecting  nonchalance. 


146  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Of  course  he  did,"  jeers  Mirie  in  her  most  polite 
tones.  "  Didn't  I  see  his  fiancee  waiting  for  him  before 
breakfast? " 

' '  Oh  cut  that !  "  laughs  George,  uneasily.  ' '  Seraphia 
and  I  have  altogether  too  much  sense  to  be  demon- 
strative, don't  yer  know?  We're  not  children,  like  you, 
Miss  Mirie.  People  of  mature  minds  take  upon  them- 
selves the  marriage  obligations  solemnly." 

"You  look  it,"  remarks  Mirabelle;  and  thinking  this 
shot  will  probably  be  her  best,  rises  and  goes  away. 

Then  for  a  minute  George  and  his  erstwhile  sweet- 
heart are  practically  alone. 

After  an  uneasy  pull  or  two  at  his  cigar,  which 
apparently  doesn't  draw  very  well,  Bar-Sinister 
remarks:  "  Did  you  hear  my  story  about  Ripley  and 
that  business  transaction  in  St.  Augustine  ?  Did  it 
take  you  back  to  Florida,  Miss  Evie?"  He  sighs  a 
tittle  over  the  word.  "It  did  me." 

Then,  despite  herself,  the  girl  cannot  help  giving 
him  one  stab,  and  a  deep  one.  "I  should  think  a 
business  man,  like  you  brag  about  being,"  she  says, 
scorn  in  her  voice,  "could  make  his  own  living.  I 
should  imagine  a  good,  stalwart,  strong,  powerful 
Briton  like  you  wouldn't  include  marrying  in  his  other 
trade  arrangements." 

"Oh,  by  Jove!  Come  now;  don't  yer  know  it's  your 
advice  that  made  me  embrace  matrimony?  You  said, 
don't  you  remember,  while  sitting  in  the  sentry  box  at 
Fort  Marion — that  a  wife  should  be  happy  to  share  her 
fortune  with  her  husband.  I  only  acted  on  your  sug- 
gestion. To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought  some  one  over 
here  wanted  to  give  me  a  hint  that  she  would  like  to 
share  her  fortune  with  me.  Not  that  I  wanted  her 
fortune;  1  wanted  her. "  Then  he  sighs  very  slowly 
and  very  softly:  " Don't  you  guess  whom  I  wanted?" 

Just  here   Bar-Sinister  looks  up  and   mutters  an 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  147 

astounded  "By  Jove!"  and  Evie  blushes  deeply,  for 
Seraphia  stands  between  them,  staring  at  her  niece. 

"What  have  you  been  saying  to  Bar-Sinister — I  mean 
George  ?"  she  says  coyly.  "Are  you  teasing  him  ?  I 
shan't  permit  anyone  to  tease  my  Georgie — shall  I 
George  ? " 

"No,  for  God's  sake,  don't !  "  groans  the  young  man 
in  a  melancholy  and  convincing  way. 

"Teasing  him  ?"  returns  Miss  Evie,  forcing  a  laugh. 
"No,  I  was  only  what  is  called  in  England  'jollying' 
him  up.  But  as  it  is  time  for  the  beach,  suppose  we  all 
drive  there?  That's  the  programme,  I  believe. — You 
will  come?" 

"Won't  I!"  George's  jaws  snap  together  with  the 
words. 

Thereupon  Evie,  affecting  nonchalance,  strolls  to  her 
own  room  to  make  prepaiations  for  the  beach. 

But  she  is  followed  by  eager  steps,  and  Seraphia's 
impatient  hand  is  laid  upon  her  shoulder  and  Seraphia's 
angry  voice  is  in  her  ear  just  as  she  enters  her  apart- 
ment. 

The  aunt  says  to  the  niece:  "Now,  Miss,  a  word 
with  you.  I  won't  have  you  jollying  up,  as  you  call 
it,  my  young  man.  Do  you  hear  what  I  say  ?  My 
young  man!  You  might  have  had  him  yourself.  I  got 
him  on  purpose  for  you,  but  you  refused  him.  Now 
you  seem  to  repent  your  bargain." 

"I !     How  do  you  guess  that  ? " 

"By  your  looks!  Haven't  I  seen  you  blush  every 
time  he  grins  at  you  ?  I  told  you  he  was  as  dandy 
a  young  fellow  as  ever  strolled  Pall  Mall.  You  wouldn't 
believe  me.  You  would  throw  him  over.  Now  in  justice 
to  me  don't  you  step  between  me  and  my  bargain.  It 
isn't  fair  !  You  young  girls  get  round  him  and  try  to 
make  him  discontented  with  his  lot.  I  wouldn't  have 
done  it  to  you.  As  for  that  little  Mirie  Armitage  she'd 


148  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT 

better  look  out,  or  I'll — I'll  whale  her  !  "  This  is  said 
so  savagely,  that  Evelyn  breaks  into  an  uneasy  laugh ; 
but  her  aunt  goes  on  pathetically,  "Now  you  promise 
me  to  let  my  George  alone.  A  bargain's  a  bargain. 
I've  paid  his  debts;  I've  taken  up  the  contract.  Evie, 
if  you  have  one  speck  of  the  business  honor  of  the 
Bulgers,  respect  it.  Don't  dally  with  my  last  chance, 
for  I'm  desperate.  Do  you  hear  me — desperate!" 

Her  appearance  is  such  that  it  puts  contrition  into 
Evelyn;  she  cries:  "Auntie,  I — I  didn't  know  you 
loved  him  so." 

"I  didn't  love  him  yesterday;  but  now  I've  got 
him,  I  love  him  more  than  I  thought  it  would  be  possi- 
ble. My  spectacles  gleam  every  time  I  gaze  on  him. 
And  you — taking  him  from  me — you  are  heartless!  " 

"  No,"  murmurs  Evie,  despairingly,  "I  promise  to  let 
him  alone." 

And  Seraphia,  beaming  on  her,  whispers:  "Then 
I've  a  surprise  for  you,  you're  such  a  good  girl,"  as 
she  pats  her  niece  on  the  shoulder.  "  Do  you  know 
what  I'm  going  to  make  you?" 

"  No!  "     There  is  anxiety  in  the  answer. 

"My  first  bridesmaid!"  and  Seraphia  flies  out  of  the 
room,  for  she  has  seen  George  walking  down  the  path 
as  if  anxious  to  get  into  the  town  by  himself,  and  is 
determined  to  be  his  companion  in  his  stroll  to  the 
Casino. 

Fortunately  she  does  not  note  the  effect  of  her  words. 
For  at  the  mention  of  first  bridesmaid  Miss  Evelyn 
Valle  Bulger  grows  very  pale.  Then  as  the  door  closes 
with  a  bang,  cutting  her  off  from  the  outer  world, 
Evie  throws  herself  on  her  bed,  and  rolls,  tosses,  tum- 
bles about,  moaning  to  herself  in  a  state  of  agitation 
that  makes  her  look  very  beautiful  though  marvelously 
unconventional.  Fortunately  there  is  no  one  to  see 
her,  not  even  Elise. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  149 

After  a  few  moments  of  vivacious  agony,  the 
girl  rises,  dashes  a  tear  from  her  pretty  eyes  and 
mutters:  "It  is  the  bathing  hour!  The  double-dyed 
villain  shall  see  what  he  has  lost!  That's  what  he  is, 
double-dyed !  I'll— I'll  show  him !  " 

For  this  young  lady  will  swim  in  the  surf  this  morn- 
ing. 

She  is  perfectly  satisfied  that  she  has  the  pret- 
tiest bathing  suit  in  Narragansett ;  she  is  equally  sure 
that  she  fills  the  bathing  dress  to  perfection ;  she 
knows  she  is  a  very  nai'ad  in  the  waves  and  can  swim 
and  dive  like  a  sea-nymph ;  and  is  furthermore  satisfied 
that  Seraphia  dares  not  don  bathing  costume  and  enter 
the  surf  before  that  crowd  of  assembled  lookers  on. 

But  she  doesn't  know  Seraphia  ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT   IS   THE   BATHING    HOUR! 

SUMMONING  her  maid  and  giving  her  directions, 
pretty  Miss  Evelyn  joins  the  rest  of  the  party,  and 
after  a  merry  and  short  ride  finds  herself  upon  the 
beach  at  Narragansett  Pier — that  beach  celebrated  by 
pictorial  newspapers ;  that  beach  young  men,  who  have 
not  visited,  dream  of  as  a  sort  of  briny  Elysium,  very 
much  as  the  followers  of  Allah  dream  of  the  paradise 
of  Mohammed  and  its  myriad  houris;  that  beach  where 
amid  laughter  and  love  the  sea  nymphs  of  America 
sport  in  the  sunny  surf  to  the  joy  of  American  news- 
paper reporters,  who  delight  to  weave  fantastic  stories 
about  female  loveliness  undraped;  that  beach  where 
many  a  young  Adonis  has  received  Cupid's  shaft 
between  plunges  in  the  breakers,  and  many  an 


150  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

enthralled  swain  has  found  his  disenchantment  amid 
revealing  waves  and  clinging  bathing  suits. 

"  By  Jove!  "  remarks  the  Right  Honorable  George, 
gazing  over  the  human  panorama;  "This  reminds  me 
of  the  surf  at  Tonga  Island ;  only  the  girls  didn't  wear 
anything  there  and  were  not  as  handsome."  He  rolls 
his  single  eyeglass  with  a  sort  of  Cyclops  gleam  over 
the  young  ladies  of  the  party. 

"For  shame,  George,"  mutters  Seraphia,  with  re- 
proving modesty. 

"  Perhaps  we  wouldn't  be  as  handsome  if  we  were  in 
isles  of  the  Pacific,"  replies  Mirie,  archly.  "Very  few 
American  girls  could  stand  Tonga!  " 

"Gel!  you  should  see  Boulogne  sur  Mer," 
interjects  little  Arvid  de  Polac,  anxious  to  show  that 
he  is  French  and  foreign.  "I'll  warrant  there  isn't  a 
titled  lady  in  that  surf  at  present,"  he  points  to 
Narragansett  water.  "Over  there,  you  know,  espe- 
cially at  Trouville,  we  have  marchionesses,  comtesses, 
baronesses  and  aristocratic  sea-nymphs." 

"Ya-as,  here  we  have  only  heiresses  bathing,"  re- 
turns Bar-Sinister  with  a  slight  chuckle.  "Polac, 
you  have  the  chance  of  your  lifetime.  Save  an  heir- 
ess from  drowning.  It's  better  than  the  wine  business 
I  can  tell  you!  " 

At  this  young  Arvid,  who  blushes  under  the  insinua- 
tion, is  happy  to  bolt  into  a  bathing  booth  to  make 
toilet  for  his  embrace  of  the  sea. 

In  a  moment  the  rest  of  the  party  follow  his  exam- 
ple. George  would  make  his  preparations  for  a  duck 
also,  but  Seraphia,  determined  to  keep  him  from  join- 
ing the  alluring  nymphs,  indicates  chairs  on  the  plat- 
form of  one  of  the  booths,  and  suggests,  "Let  us  sit 
down  here  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  dear 
Bar-Sinister." 

Thus  compelled,  the  Honorable  George  sinks  into  a 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  15! 

camp  stool  beside  her,  and  does  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the 
scene ;  for  Narragansett  at  its  best  and  bravest  is  in  the 
height  of  its  season,  and  the  day  is  as  perfect  as  an 
Italian  one.  The  soft  blue  waters  of  the  bay  flow  in 
upon  the  white  gleaming  beach  in  a  sort  of  lazy  surf. 
In  front  of  them  upon  the  sands  stroll  maidens  in  white 
muslins  and  straw  hats  mixed  with  girls  dressed  a  la 
mermaid,  who  have  been  into  the  waves  or  are  just 
about  wooing  the  embrace  of  ocean. 

The  costumes  of  these  bathing  beauties,  though  not 
as  light  and  debonair  as  illustrated  newspapers  make 
them,  still  in  some  instances  approach  the  graceful 
draperies  depicted  by  American  periodicals,  at  least 
sufficiently  so  to  give  color  to  the  wondrous  pictures 
they  have  given  of  Narragansett,  to  astonish  and  delight 
the  world. 

"  By  the  by,  you  don't  mind  my  smoking?  "  says  Bar- 
Sinister,  pulling  out  a  cigar,  and  looking  meditatively 
and  inquiringly  at  Seraphia. 

Her  answer  horrifies  him.  ''No,"  she  whispers, 
"you  have  taught  me  to  love  the  odor  of  the  Havana! " 

This  awful  revelation  of  his  power  frightens  George. 
With  a  gasp  the  weed  goes  into  his  mouth  and  he  lights 
it  in  a  nervous,  agitated  way,  as  if  he  felt  he  was  making 
one  of  his  last  appearances  in  the  happy  ranks  of 
bachelors. 

A  puff  or  two  of  the  soothing  cigar,  and  he  pulls  him- 
self together  and  mutters:  "That's  rather  fetching," 
indicating  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  a  very  chic  costume 
worn  by  a  maid  who  proudly  regards  herself  as  the 
queen  of  the  surf,  and  as  such  dresses  in  white  in  con- 
tradistinction to  the  dark  blues  and  magentas  of  her 
surrounding  companions.  "  I  say,  she  would  be  in  ball 
dress  if  she  had  a  train, "  George  continues.  '  'At  present 
she  reminds  one  of  the  ballet,  don't  yer  know?  She 
would  make  her  fortune  in  a  music  hall, " 


152  THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

But  this  admiration  does  not  please  Seraphia.  She 
changes  the  conversation  by  remarking  severely: 
"Why  did  you  make  young  Polac  blush  by  mention- 
ing the  wine  trade? " 

"Because  he  did  blush,  that's  the  reason!  I  like  to 
chevy  him  up  a  little.  He  doesn't  guess  it,  but  I  know 
he's  the  agent  for  Lord  Cameron  over  here  for  wines, 
champagnes,  etc.  It's  ineffably  caddish  to  be  in  trade 
and  be  ashamed  of  it.  Now,  I  glory  in  being  a 
business  man,  Seraphia.  The  proudest  moment  of  my 
life  was  the  first  time  I  made  a  thundering  cute  oper- 
ation— that's  what  you  call  it  over  here,  isn't  it? 
Do  you  know,  I  glory  in  every  sign  of  '  Bulger's  Bile 
Exterminator;'  the  bigger  it  is  the  better  I  like  it.  It 
indicates  business  energy ;  that's  what  I  like,  don't  yer 
know ;  business  energy  !  That's  what  I  admire  in  you, 
Seraphia,  BUSINESS  ENERGY!  " 

But  Bar-Sinister's  remarks  on  business  energy  sud- 
denly close  with  a  muttered  "  By  Jove ! "  of  excitement 
and  admiration,  as  two  nymphs  come  under  his  eye- 
glass. 

Evelyn  and  Mirie,  draped  with  bathing  mantles,  have 
wandered  to  the  beach  and  now  have  thrown  them  to 
Elise  preparatory  to  wooing  the  ocean.  Mirie  he 
scarce  sees,  for  the  beauty  and  graces  of  Evelyn's 
nai'ad  figure  is  too  much  for  the  business  energy  of 
Viscount  Bar-Sinister. 

"  I — I  say,  I'll  go  in  for  a  plunge  myself! "  he  stam- 
mers, getting  up;  and  before  Seraphia  can  detain  him 
has  bolted  into  the  men's  department  to  assume  bath- 
ing dress. 

His  betrothed,  who  cannot  follow  George,  stands 
undecided  and  annoyed. 

Two  minutes  after,  with  an  agile  rush  before  Ser- 
aphia can  stop  him,  Bar-Sinister  is  on  the  beach,  has 
plunged  in,  and  George  and  Evie  are  tossing  quite  near 
together  in  the  surf  of  Narragansett  Bav. 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  153 

With  a  playful  "How  are  yer? "  the  Englishman 
starts  for  the  raft  floating  a  couple  of  hundred  feet 
beyond  the  wading  line.  But  Evie  is  by  his  side,  and 
perchance  would  reach  the  goal  before  him  did  she  not 
stop  to  give  a  half  playful  half  vindictive  duck  and 
souse  to  little  Mirie,  as  they  overtake  her. 

"Don't  we  look  like  children  of  nature?"  sputters 
Mirabelle,  as  she  struggles  on  to  the  raft  after  them,  and 
looks  her  character  very  much,  being  in  a  petite  bathing 
dress  contrived  especially  to  make  masculine  hearts  beat 
very  hard  under  salt  water,  for  it  displays  quite  craftily 
every  lovely  outline  of  her  pretty  little  muscles  as  she 
sports  in  the  waves. 

"  You  do,"  says  George,  grimly,  compelled  to  admir- 
ation despite  himself. 

"What,  more  than  Evie?"  mutters  Mirabelle. 
regarding  Evelyn,  who  is  preparing  for  a  sea-nympn 
dive.  Then  she  adds,  with  astute  vindictiveness: 
"Wouldn't  your  father,  the  old  Marquis,  like  to  be 
here?  You  know  he  does  so  love  to  play — with  chil- 
dren!" 

"  Did  he  like  to  play  with  you,  Mirie?"  laughs  Miss 
Bulger,  as  she  disappears  under  the  water  that  foams 
about  her  as  she  shoots  off  the  raft. 

"  Follow  my  leader,"  cries  George,  and  goes  after 
her. 

"Keep  the  pot  boiling!"  yells  Mirie,  recklessly,  ana 
disappears  in  their  wake:  and  the  three  go  into  a  merry 
game  of  "  Follow  my  leader,"  in  divings  and  duckings 
and  enjoy  themselves  wondrously  in  the  warm  water  as 
they  play  £  la  porpoise  about  the  raft. 

But  there  is  one  on  the  shore  who,  though  she  isn't 
the  old  Marquis,  would  like  to  join  them.  The  bereft 
Seraphia  meanders  up  and  down  the  beach  as  near  to 
them  as  the  water  permits,  careless  of  incoming  ripples 
that  wet  her  feet,  and  calling  wildly  to  heedless  George 
to  corne  on  shore. 


154  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

But  he  cannot  hear  her;  at  all  events  he  doesn't 
hear  her;  which  is  exactly  the  same  thing  in  her  case. 
So  wandering  up  and  down  like  a  hen  looking  at  her 
ugly  duckling  in  the  water,  Seraphia  paces  the  weary 
beach — suddenly  a  look  of  tremendous  determination 
comes  into  her  eyes  and  her  jaws  close  with  a  bull-dog 
snap,  muttering,  "I'll  do  it!" 

Five  minutes  after  a  figure  that  produces  astonish- 
ment, almost  dismay,  passes  through  the  crowd  that 
play  beside  the  waves  of  Narragansett.  In  solid  black 
from  head  to  heel,  Seraphia  Bulger  looks  the  picture  of 
womanhood  in  its  most  advanced  form ;  the  form  that 
cares  not  what  is  thought  of  it!  Not  that  she  is  a  skele- 
ton, for  Seraphia  weighs  a  good  one  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds;  but  most  of  this  is  bone,  and  the  articulations 
of  her  joints  are  wondrous  in  their  development. 
Besides,  a  solemn  determination  in  the  way  she  enters 
the  waves,  a  savageness  in  the  bend  of  her  big  Chinese 
straw  hat  which  is  fastened  over  her  head,  indicate  she 
is  a  maiden  with  a  purpose,  and  that  purpose  is  to  drag 
the  Right  Honorable  George  Cranmere,  Viscount  Bar- 
Sinister  out  of  the  water. 

"Oh  cracky!"  jeers  little  Jimmy,  Miss  Evelyn's 
cute  groom,  to  Jellybird  Maddox,  who  is  taking  in  the 
sights  of  the  beach  beside  him.  "There's  a  fi ne  de 
bicycle  figure  for  you." 

"  'Ush  you  little  ruffian,"  answers  the  valet.  "  Don't 
you  see  it's  my  missus,  as  is  to  be,  you're  talking  hof  ? 
Corblimy !  she  looks  like  a  fair  knock  out  for  master  or 
meself ;"  for  Seraphia's  appearance  inspires  awe. 

But,  unheeding  remark,  she  marches  straight  as  the 
tide  will  permit  her  toward  the  raft,  every  now  and 
then  lifting  up  her  voice  and  calling  out  "  Ge — orge !  " 

But  "  Ge — orge  "  and  the  sea  nymphs  are  having  too 
pleasant  a  time  to  pay  much  attention  to  anybody  else. 

Step  after  step  Seraphia  takes,  first  to  her  knees, 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  155 

then  to  her  waist,  then  desperately  almost  to  her 
shoulders.  Here  she  pauses  faltering  and  cries  out 
"GE— ORGE!" 

She  can  hear  the  giggles  from  the  girls  as  Bar- 
Sinister  is  sousing  them;  she  can  hear  little  Mirie  cry: 
"  Oh,  George,  push  me  up  on  the  raft  again! "  She  can 
see  George  swing  the  lithe  graceful  form  of  Miss  Armi- 
tage  on  to  the  floating  caisson.  Then  she  sees  him  do 
the  same  for  Evie — who  looks  even  more  enchanting 
than  petite  Mirie — lingering  over  his  pleasant  task. 

Now  all  this  makes  Seraphia  frantic.  Not  a 
stroke  can  she  swim ;  but  there  is  the  raft  almost  within 
hailing  distance.  Another  step  or  two  and  George 
must  hear  her!  Her  determined  disposition  will  risk  a 
great  deal  to  carry  its  point.  She  doesn't  know  the 
danger  of  the  sea;  this  is  the  first  time  she  has  ever 
been  in  its  deceitful  but  alluring  embrace. 

She  takes  a  step  or  two  further  out  and  yells 
"  GE-ORGE  !  "  And  as  the  salt  water  comes  round 
her  and  bobs  her  about,  she  makes  up  her  mind  it  will 
be  the  last  time. 

//  nearly  is  > 

Just  then  Evie  poses  herself  upon  the  raft  preparing 
for  another  header,  and  makes  such  an  alluring  picture, 
outlined  against  the  sky  and  tinted  with  the  sun's  soft 
rays,  in  a  bathing  dress  of  light  blue  even  to  silk  stock- 
ings that  display  limbs  graceful  as  Venus  rising  from 
the  sea,  that  Seraphia  cannot  bear  it  any  longer. 

She  takes  another  step ;  the  water  deepens.  As  she 
does  so  a  combing  breaker  blown  in  by  the  freshening 
wind  takes  her  off  her  feet.  She  is  afloat,  or  rather 
she  isn't  afloat,  for  she  sinks,  and  with  a  muttered 
"  Save  me,  George,"  which  is  unheard  by  the  laughing 
merman  and  sea  nymphs  on  the  raft,  Seraphia  Bulger, 
with  the  roar  of  waters  in  her  ears,  goes  down — for  the 
first  time. 


156  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

When  she  conies  up  again,  the  tide,  which  is  now  ebb, 
is  drifting  her  out  to  sea.  She  splashes,  she  cries 
unheard  by  the  laughing  throng  near  the  shore  and  the 
trio  about  the  raft,  who  are  too  much  occupied  in  their 
own  aquatic  sports. 

Even  now  they  might  notice  Seraphia,  did  not  at 
this  moment  artful  little  Mirie,  who  doesn't  think  she 
is  receiving  attention  enough  from  George,  pretend 
to  be  drowning  herself  and  insist  upon  being  dragged 
on  to  the  raft  and  slapped  and  revived  and  made  much 
of;  a  process  which  is  entered  into  with  so  much  athletic 
zest  by  Evie  that  Mirie  very  shortly  shrieks  not  to  kill 
her,  she  is  all  right. 

Alone,  unaided,  her  mouth  filled  with  salt  water  at 
every  yell,  Seraphia  gives  just  one  more  frantic 
scream.  The  water  is  closing  round  her;  she  is  already 
about  to  take  her  second  descent  to  Father  Neptune's 
caves,  when  a  wiry  looking,  Israelitish  little  fellow,  who 
has  been  sporting  about  by  himself,  no  one  apparently 
knowing  him,  with  a  red  Turkish  cap  over  his  dark, 
crisp  locks,  and  a  bathing  costume  that  is  as  near 
nadity  as  Narragansett  authorities  permit,  evidently 
sees  her. 

For  with  a  muttered,  "By  sinking  funds!  there's 
Aunt  Seraphia!  If  I  let  her  die  it  will  ruin  me!  "  he 
puts  vigor  into  his  strokes,  and  catches  her  just  in 
time. 

But  he  has  very  hard  work  to  keep  her  on  the  surface, 
for  Seraphia,  like  most  people  in  danger  of  drowning, 
loses  her  presence  of  mind  and  would  embrace  her  sup- 
porter with  a  fatal  fervor  did  he  not  hold  her  at  arms' 
length.  This  he  does,  shouting  lustily  for  assistance. 

"  There's  some  trouble  over  there !  "  cries  Miss  Evie, 
who  is  still  mounted  on  the  raft.  "  Quick,  Bar-Sinis- 
ter, there's  trouble  over  there ! "  and  she  dives  and 
swims  toward  the  two  struggling  figures  in  the  water. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  157 

But  she  doesn't  get  there  first,  for  George's  rapid  over- 
hand stroke  soon  places  him  to  the  fore. 

He  calls  out  encouragingly:  "Keep  her  up!  Be 
with  yer  in  a  minute !  "  And  very  shortly  the  young 
lord  does  join  them  and  glares  in  intense  astonishment, 
for  confronting  George  and  holding  up  Seraphia  is  his 
little  Israelitish  pursuer  of  his  trip  across  the  Atlantic. 

A  second  after  Evie,  the  nai'ad,  is  with  them,  and 
all  three  together  propel  Seraphia  into  shallow  water, 
where  she  is  brought  upon  the  beach  in  a  somewhat 
dazed  condition,  having  swallowed,  as  Mirie  remarks, 
as  she  paddles  along  beside  them,  more  salt  water  than 
would  pickle  her. 

But  on  the  beach  Miss  Bulger  is  not  too  disconcerted 
to  remember  the  little  fellow  who  saved  her  life.  "  How 
can  I  ever  thank  you  ?"  she  says,  looking  at  the 
aquatic  little  man.  "How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ?" 

"Beg  pardon,  don't  you  remember  me?  I  was  on 
the  Teutonic  coming  over. " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  recollect.  Please  wait  for  me  till  I 
have  made  my  toilet,"  and  Seraphia,  assisted  by  Evie, 
hurries  into  the  ladies'  portion  of  the  booth,  while 
George  and  the  rescuer  confront  each  other  dripping 
on  the  beach. 

"I  am  happy  to  have  saved  her  for  you,  my  lord," 
says  the  little  man,  "very  happy.  More  happy  than 
you  can  imagine. "  This  last  is  uttered  sotto  voce,  but 
with  significant  emphasis. 

"Oh,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  replies  his 
lordship,  "very  much  obliged  to  you.  Yer  see,  I 
didn't  know  she  was  in.  Thanks  awfully!  Do  the 
same  for  you  next  time. "  And  with  this  rather  enig- 
matical remark  he  strides  into  the  gentleman's  portion 
of  the  bathing  house. 

The  affair  has  created  little  or  no  excitement;  most 
of  the  crowd  upon  the  beach  have  thought  it  a  romp, 


158  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

so  the  episode  has  passed  very  quietly.  Twenty  min- 
utes after,  Seraphia,  coming  out,  finds  her  preserver 
very  handsomely  overdressed,  and  murmurs  her  thanks 
again.  "I  believe  I  remember  you  on  board  the 
Teutonic •,"  she  adds. 

"Yes,  certainly;  permit  me,"   and  the  little  gentle- 
man presents  his  card ;  which  is 


RAPHAEL  LEVISON,  M.  D. 


"Ah,  Dr.  Levison,"  she  says,  "let  me  thank  you 
once  more.  My  brother  will  wish  to  add  his  thanks  to 
mine.  Cannot  you  come  to  Mr.  Bulger's  villa,  Sea 
View,  on  the  Ocean  road?" 

"Thanks,  I  know  it  very  well.  I  took  a  look  at  it 
yesterday,"  says  the  little  gentleman. 

"Well,  can't  you  join  us  at  dinner,  Dr.  Levison?'' 
remarks  Seraphia,  hospitably. 

"Delighted,  thanks!     What  time  did  you  say?" 

"Seven  o'clock." 

"All  right,  sharp  seven!  "  replies  the  invited  one. 

"You  don't  practice  medicine  here?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  practice  medicine,"  he  adds  with  a 
little  chuckle  that  rather  astonishes  Seraphia;  but  she 
murmurs,  "Thank  you  once  more.  Au  revoir  till 
seven." 

Then,  as  the  party  go  home,  she  whispers  to  her  niece 
that  she  has  invited  Dr.  Levison,  the  gentleman  wno 
has  saved  her,  to  dine  at  their  villa. 

"I  am  delighted  that  you  did,"  remarks  Evie. 
"  I  know  that  papa  will  want  to  thank  him  himself, 


TUB      .ABvfci'    JUGGERNAUT.  159 

and  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  so  over  again.  Only 
to  think,  poor  Seraphia !  One  more  plunge  and  you 
would  have  been  lost,  and  we  were  laughing  and  never 
saw  you.  George — that  is,  Lord  Bar-Sinister  and 
Mirie  and  I  were  practicing  somersault  diving.  We 
never  thought  you  would  venture  in." 

"  No,"  says  Seraphia  grimly,  "probably  not!  " 

But  of  ail  of  the  party  George  apparently  cares  less 
about  Dr.  Levison  than  any  of  them.  When  the  in- 
vitation is  announced  to  him  he  replies:  "That's 
right.  Thanks,  awfully."  But  in  his  mind  adds- 
"  That  demned  little  fellow  is  following  me  again.  I 
wonder  what  he  wants  with  me?  Can't  be  a  detective, 
don't  yer  know! " 

But  he  hasn't  much  opportunity  for  meditating  on 
little  Levison,  as  Seraphia  demands  all  his  attention, 
once  or  twice  saying  under  her  breath:  "George, 
fancy  if  I  had  gone  down  the  third  time— -fancy!  " 

This  fancy  sends  George  into  such  a  melancholy 
frame  of  mind  that  he  eats  nothing  at  lunch  though  he 
is  very  hungry,  and  the  meal  is  an  exquisite  one  as  re- 
gards cuisine  and  service. 

All  this  coming  afternoon  he  knows  he  is  doomed  ; 
Seraphia  has  already  announced  it  to  him.  She  is  going 
to  take  him  over  to  Newport  and  introduce  him  to  some 
of  her  fashionable  friends.  The  betrothed  has  planned 
this  as  a  triumphant  visit  to  the  fashionable  watering 
place,  where  she  is  going  to  crush  several  friends  whom 
she  regards  as  enemies,  by  exhibiting  her  English  lord  to 
them ;  this  youth  who  is  going  to  make  her  Lady  Bar- 
Sinister;  this  fiance*  who  is  about  to  give  her  opportun- 
ity of  sneering  at  the  Hungarian  counts  and  French 
barons  with  which  Newport  is  decorated  this  season. 

So,  very  shortly  after  lunch,  Seraphia  takes  depart- 
ure for  Newport,  followed  by  the  majority  of  the  party. 

On  this  pilgrimage  she  is  accompanied  by  her  captive, 


i6o  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

who  is  in  a  sulky  and  sarcastic  mood,  and  is  thinking, 
When  I  come  back  I  shan't  be  able  to  kick  that  little 
beast  Levison  out  of  here,  because  he  has  saved  my 
Seraphia's  life.  I  shall  owe  him  forever  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude. By  the  Lord  Harry!  I  shall  have  to  embrace 
him  and  take  him  to  my  heart  for  saving  Aunt  Sera- 
phia,  my  betrothed.  Who  is  he,  anyway?  Is  he  after 
me  for  something?  He  haunted  me  on  shipboard — • 
dash  me  if  I  don't  believe  he's  followed  me  to  Narra- 
gansett.  What  the  devil  does  he  want?  Doctor  Levi- 
son! Is  he  a  rival  drug  clerk?  Does  he  want  patent 
medicine  orders?  Whatever  he  is,  I'd  enjoy  tossing 
him  out  the  front  door,  if  a  window  wasn't  handier. 

BUT    GEORGE,    VISCOUNT    BAR-SINISTER.    DOESN'T 
KNOW  HOW  MUCH  HE  WILL  LOVE  LITTLE  LEVISON  SOME 

DAY. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"IT  DOES  ME  GOOD    TO  SEE  A   SWELL'S   HEART    BREAK?" 

Miss  EVIE  BULGER  does  not  accompanv  the  New- 
port party.  The  girl  is  not  in  good  spirits.  When 
alone,  she  gives  way  to  a  curious  romantic  melancholy, 
which  is  mingled  with  flashes  of  spiteful  rage,  «!!  of 
which  are  to  be  intensified,  because  when  Ceorge 
Cranmere  returns  she  is  going  to  love  him  more  than 
ever  she  did  before. 

She  doesn't  know  it  now,  but  she  soon  will. 

This  peculiar  increase  of  passion  is  brought  about 
by  the  visit  of  a  society  reporter  in  search  of  items  for 
one  of  the  New  York  dailies.  From  which  city  he  has 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  161 

come  upon  this  specific  business.  The  international 
marriage  has  received  certain  telegraphic  comment  in 
the  morning  New  York  papers,  and  this  gentleman  has 
been  deputed  to  make  a  special  trip  to  Narragansett 
to  write  up  a  three  or  four  column  Sunday  article,  il- 
lustrated with  photographs,  etc.,  according  to  the 
usual  sycophantic  manner  of  many  of  the  New  York 
dailies  on  such  international  marriages. 

This  gentleman  drives  straight  to  Mr.  Bulger's  villa, 
and  sends  up  his  card.  "Please  give  this  to  Miss 
Bulger  at  once,"  he  says,  to  the  footman  who  an- 
swers his  ring.  "Tell  her  my  visit  is  of  great  im- 
portance, immediate  and  imperative. " 

There  being  only  one  Miss  Bulger  at  home  the 
flunky  does  not  take  the  trouble  to  make  explanations, 
but  delivers  the  card  to  Miss  Evie,  who  looks  at  it 
with  astonishment,  then  thinks:  "I  wonder  what  he 
wants  me  for?  Well,  the  quickest  way  to  discover,  is  to 
see  him." 

A  few  minutes  after  she  walks  into  her  parlor  to 
brii  g  return  astonishment  upon  her  visitor.  Looking 
at  his  card,  she  murmurs,  "Mr.  Roberts,  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  remarks  the  representative  of  the  press,  ris- 
ing. Then  he  mutters,  in  apparent  embarrassment : 
"  I — I  beg  your  pardon! " 

"I  beg  yours!"  she  replies,  rather  haughtily,  and 
indicates  with  her  fair  hand  a  seat. 

"  But  I  sent  my  card  to  Miss  Bulger." 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  would  you  excuse  me — Miss  Webster — I — I 
believe — " 

"  Miss  Webster?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Webster;  I  saw  you  in  Florida.' 

"  Miss  WEBSTER!  "  The  name  strikes  Evie  curiously; 
then  memory  comes  upon  her.  As  she  looks  at  the  gen- 
tleman before  her,  she  remembers  him  as  the  society 


262  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

reporter  of  St.  Augustine,  the  one  that  little  Mirie  had 
said  helped  her  to  pass  quiet  afternoons.  "Miss 
Webster!"  she  repeats,  loftily.  "You  make  a 
mistake.  My  name  is  Miss  Evelyn  Valle  Bulger." 

"Impossible! — I  wrote  three  articles  about  you  as 
Miss  Webster — Miss  Alicia  Webster. " 

"About  ME?"  she  falters;  then  cries  out  savagely, 
"  How  dared  you  think  my  name  was  Webster?" 

"Why,  your  companion,  the  daughter  of  your  chap- 
erone,  Miss  Mirabelle  Armitage,  told  me  your  name 
was  Webster!  " 

"  Good  Heavens!  "  the  girl  gasps,  then  grows  very 
pale,  but  forces  herself  to  ask  again,  as  if  she  cannot 
believe:  "  Did  Miss — Miss  Armitage  tell  you  my  name 
was  Webster? " 

"  Why,  certainly.  I  once  heard  you,  at  the  Ponce 
de  Leon,  spoken  of  as  Miss  Bulger,  and  inquired  again 
from  Miss  Mirie,  but  she  assured  me  that  your  name 
was  Alicia  Webster." 

"  She  said  my  name  was — Oh,  Mirie!  Mirie!  "  whis- 
pers Evie,  her  hand  seeking  her  heart  to  stop  its 
throbbing. 

"Yes,  of — of  course,"  stammers  the  gentleman  of 
the  press,  for  the  young  lady's  appearance  makes  him 
fear  she  will  faint.  "  I  didn't  doubt  the  information, 
as  it  came  from  one  of  your  own  party,  and  the 
daughter  of  your  chaperone." 

"Mirie  did  that  and  you  believed  her — YOU — "  and 
there  flies  a  light  into  Miss  Evie's  eyes  that  makes  the 
reporter  know  the  young  lady  has  given  up  all  idea 
of  swooning.  But  the  girl  calms  herself  by  a  tremen- 
dous effort  and  utters  politely:  "What  do  you  wish?  " 

"  I  wish  any  information  in  your  power  to  give  as  to 
the  marriage  of  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  and  Miss  Bulger.'' 

"  My  aunt!  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  so  you  need 
make  no  mistake  this  time. "  This  Evie  says,  feigning  a 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  163 

lightness  of  tongue  that  is  not  in  her  heart;  for  there  is 
a  great  terror  there  as  well  as  love.  This  man.  if  he 
guesses,  what  an  article  it  will  be  for  his  paper — the 
niece  enamored  of,  the  aunt  engaged  to  the  English 
lord — this  man  facing  her,  who  will,  as  a  matter  of 
business,  tell  of  her  Florida  flirtation ! 

If  he  sees  George  he  will  recognize  Bar-Sinister  as 
the  Mr.  Cranmere  of  St.  Augustine;  and  this  shrewd, 
journalistic  investigator  will  suspect,  will  reason — will 
find  out,  TN\\\ publish, — Oh,  my  heavens! — will  PUBLISH! 

As  this  flies  through  Evelyn's  brain,  she  deter- 
mines she  must  get  Mr.  Roberts  away  before  the  party 
returns  from  Narragansett. 

This  she  will  do  by  the  only  means  in  her  power, 
and,  somehow  or  other,  the  girl  contrives  to  keep 
herself  calm  and  give  the  gentleman  of  the  press  all  the 
information  he  wishes,  even  purloining  a  portrait  of 
Seraphia  for  journalistic  use. 

Then  as  he  goes  away,  the  affrighted  young  lady 
laughs  to  herself:  "I've  fooled  him!  he  hasn't  my 
secret.  Mr.  Roberts,  of  the  Jacksonville  Statesman 
and  the  New  York  Earth,  hasn't  divined  my  secret! " 

But  he  has! 

"Isn't  she  a  stunner,"  thinks  Mr.  Roberts,  as  he 
drives  away,  "and  very  agreeable  and  accommodating 
as  to  news.  Miss  Bulger  alias  Miss  Webster  rather 
overdid  it.  Wonder  why  she  was  so  extremely  affable. 
She  nearly  fainted  when  she  discovered  I  had  written 
about  her  as  Miss  Webster.  What  did  I  write?" 

So  on  his  return  to  New  York,  this  young  journalist 
looks  up  in  his  scrapbook  the  items  he  has  written  about 
Miss  Webster  and  Mr.  Cranmere  in  the  Jackson- 
ville Statesman^  and  the  next  day,  chancing  to  see  a 
snap-shot  photograph  in  a  Newport  paper  taken  of 
Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  he  recognizes  the  picture  as  that 
of  the  George  Cranmere  he  had  seen  in  Florida,  and 


164  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

begins  to  piece  out  the  story  little  by  little  in  his 
subtle  mind ;  though  he  doesn't  guess  the  whole  of  it 

Still,  coupled  with  the  girl's  agitation  and  his  Nar- 
ragansett  interview,  Roberts  knows  sufficient  to  make 
two  or  three  very  exciting  and  interesting  columns 
with  startling  head  lines;  but,  curiously  enough,  only 
gives  a  prolonged  whistle  and  mutters  to  himself: 
"Poor  girl,  what  a  beauty!  And  what  a  little  fiend 
that  Armitage  infant  is! "  and  doesn't  write  his  ideas 
up,  though  the  temptation  is  tremendous,  as  the  New 
York  papers  commence  to  use  very  big  type  about  this 
time  in  regard  to  the  international  marriage  of  the 
Right  Honorable  George  Cranmere,  Viscount  Bar-Sinis- 
ter and  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger. 

And  Beelzebub  below  sheds  tears  over  this  journalist, 
who  spares  a  maiden's  heart  at  the  sacrifice  of  a  three 
column  racy  article  at  two  cents  a  line,  and  growls  to 
Lucifer:  "  Here's  a  chap  on  the  New  York  press  who'll 
never  make  an  editor!  Curse  his  conscience!  we  could 
have  had  fun  down  here  if  he  had  only  written  her  up. 
The  niece  might  have  committed  suicide.  As  it  is,  I 
expect  the  aunt  will,  before  they  get  through  with 
her!" 

But  neither  of  these  catastrophes  suggested  by  His 
Satanic  Majesty  takes  place. 

Miss  Evelyn  Bulger,  the  reporter  being  gone,  now 
paces  her  chamber,  muttering:  "George  loved  me;  I 
was  the  Miss  Webster;  the  girl  he  was  reported  en- 
gaged to.  I  was  jealous  of  myself — my  Heaven!  fool, 
dolt,  idiot — JEALOUS  OF  MYSELF!  What  simple  but 
subtle  ingenuity!  Ah!  Machiavelian  Mirie!  The 
more  attentive  George  was  to  me,  the  more  I'd  suffer 
from  newspaper  accounts  of  his  love  for  Miss  Webster ! 
That's  why  I  fled  from  him.  He  was  innocent  of  wrong 
in  Florida — George  was  innocent.  I  may  misjudge  him 
now.  But  no ;  those  awful  bills !  If  it  were  not  for 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  165 

them  I  would  love  him  now.  And  she  who  has  done 
this  for  me — Mirie!  To  whom  I  owe  six  months  of 
latent  misery — Mirie!" 

Thereupon  she  clinches  her  hands  and  writhes  and 
moans;  and  if  dear,  artless  little  Mirie  could  have 
seen  her  victim  at  that  moment,  she  would  have 
known  she  had  as  fine  a  revenge  as  ever  vicious  infant 
had  upon  reigning  belle. 

Perchance  on  her  return  to  Narragansett  with  the 
Honorable  George  and  the  rest  of  the  party,  Seraphia, 
did  she  know  what  produces  Miss  Evie's  sudden  head- 
ache and  keeps  her  from  the  dinner  table  this  night, 
would  not  be  so  happy  as  she  is.  For  the  day  has 
been  one  of  great  social  triumph  for  "  the  betrothed  " 
in  Newport.  Bar-Sinister  has  made  the  great  hit  of 
the  season  and  she  has  shared  his  glory.  Invitations 
have  been  showered  upon  them,  dinner  parties  are  to 
be  given  them  right  and  left;  and  to  the  dance 
arranged  for  the  next  evening  at  the  Bulger  villa  half 
of  fashionable  Newport  is  coming. 

"We  don't  need,"  whispers  Seraphia  proudly  to 
Abner,  as  the  company  gather  together  in  the  drawing- 
room,  "to  send  out  a  single  invitation  in  Narragan- 
sett ;  we  could  even  drop  the  cottagers.  The  New- 
port boat  has  been  specially  chartered  and  we  will  have 
a  concourse  of  the  smart  set.  Besides,  two  steam 
yachts  are  coming  over." 

Then  she  gives  the  signal  for  dinner,  and  taking  the 
arm  of  the  Honorable  George,  who  has  been  stimu- 
lated by  a  convenient  quinine  powder,  follows  the  pro- 
cession to  the  dining-room. 

Little  Levison,  who  has  arrived  and  received  Mr. 
Bulger's  thanks  for  his  natatorial  feat,  is  seated  upon 
the  other  side  of  her.  Seraphia  has  been  very  kind  to 
him,  and  has  given  him  Mirie  to  take  in  to  dinner;  which 
makes,  as  Miss  Armitage  giggles  to  herself,  one  of  the 


K-6  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

epochs  of  her  life — she  has  never  eaten  so  little  nor 
laughed  so  much. 

For  little  Levison  is  a  rara  avis.  Arrayed  in  a  dress 
suit  that  gives  enormous  display  of  glazed  and  snowy 
shirt  bosom,  collar  and  cuffs,  and  diamonded  like  a  hotel 
clerk,  the  little  creature  seems  a  mass  of  complais- 
ancy,  affability,  jabber,  crisp  oily  dark  curly  hair,  grins, 
grimaces  and  assurance,  and  keeps  Miss  Mirie  in  suc- 
cessive spasms  of  mirth  that  punctuate  the  courses  of 
the  dinner,  especially  after  he  has  taken  a  glass  or  two 
of  champagne.  "By  Derby  day!"  he  whispers  into  the 
pearly  ear  beside  him,  "  I  like  American  swells." 

"Do  you?  How  curious!"  answers  Mirie.  "What 
is  the  peculiarity  of  American  swells?" 

"What  they  buy  there's  no  discount  on.  Those 
curtains  over  there — old-gold  in  genuine  metal  upon 
real  silk  damask.  Lord  love  'em !  they'd  bring  money 
at  auction,  they  would.  I  was  in  a  new  earl's  mansion 
not  long  ago,  and — so  help  me  bob!  everything 
in  it  was  Brummagen.  Bless  your  sweet  face,  how 
the  dealers  had  swindled  his  ludship.  He'd  bought 
new  French  china  for  old  cloisonne,  and  as  for  bric- 
a-brac,  you  would  think  his  house  was  filled  with  art 
from  Radcliffe  Highway.  Now,  in  this  villa  I  haven't 
put  my  hand  on  an  article  that  isn't  genuine,  and 
couldn't  be  pawned — even  to  the  knives  and  forks." 

"Yes,  burglars  would  have  a  picnic  here,"  laughs 
Mirie,  delighted. 

"Wouldn't  they? "  returns  Levison.  "They  couldnt 
steal  anything  that  wasn't  worth  money.  Look  at  the 
plate  I'm  eating  off — genuine  old  Sevres,  pictures  on 
it  painted  by  Maglin,  six — humph !  seven  guineas  apiece, 
and  cheap  at  that,  let  alone  duties.  Everything  here's 
of  value.  When  I  puts  my  eye  on  a  thing  I  know  just 
how  much  it's  worth." 

"Do  you?"  replies  Mirabelle,  biting  the  end  of  her 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  167 

handkerchief  to  prevent  herself  from  laughing  in  his 
face.  "At  how  much  would  you  value  me?" 

"You?  Let  me  inspect!"  Here  he  puts  his  eyes 
over  her;  "I  should  think  your  get-up  was  worth 
rising  five  thousand  guineas.  I've  no  doubt  you  paid 
more  for  it — that  ruby  there  upon  your  finger  is  a  very 
nice  one,  but  there's  a  little  flaw  in  it.  Without  the 
flaw  it  would  be  worth  three  thousand  pounds  itself; 
rubies  are  rubies.  The  dress  you  wear  probably  cost 
you  a  good  deal  more  than  it's  worth.  These  French 
men  milliners  are  extortionate  beasts  to  you  Yankee 
ladies.  As  for  your  twinklers ;  well,  since  the  African 
output  has  lowered  the  diamond  market,  they  wouldn't 
go  for  very  much — two  thousand  guineas.  Of  course 
I  don't  know  the  inside  trimmings  of  your  vestments; 
they  may  be  very  valuable,  some  ladies  is.  But  I 
should  put  you  down  at  about  six  thousand  pounds 
round  in  the  market.  ' 

"Ah!  I'm  worth  more  than  that,"  says  Mirie. 

"Oh,  of  course  you  know  I  don't  value  you  accord- 
ing to  the  Eastern  method.  I  suppose  in  Turkey — where 
they  do  these  tricks  sometimes;"  here  he  gives  a  hid- 
eous leer,  "  you'd  bring  a  good  price  aside  from  your 
general  get-up." 

"Yes,"  laughs  Mirie.  "But  I  bring  more  in 
England.  I  am  worth  about  two  million  there. " 

"Pounds?  So  -help  me!"  gasps  the  financier  de- 
lighted. 

"No — dollars!"  giggles  Mirabelle. 

"Oh,  an  American  heiress  and  not  married  yet. 
What  a  shame !  What  a  shame !  You'll  let  me  furnish 
your  house  for  you  in  Belgravia  or  Kensington — 
of  course  you're  going  to  marry  a  lord.  That's 
the  ambition  of  all  heiresses  in  this  country. 
I'm  over  here  on — ".  But  the  gentleman  sud- 
denly checks  himself  and  pleads:  "If  you  don't  let 


1 68  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

me  buy  your  articles  de  luxe,  you'll  be  swindled  on  tha 
other  side,  sure  as  you're  a  Yankee ! " 

"Ah,  you're  a  purchaser  of  precious  things!  " 

"  No,"  he  replies;  "at  present,  I  am  a  collector." 

"A  collector  of  beautiful  things? " 

"  Well,  some  people  say  I  am  a  collector  of  very  beau- 
tiful things,"  and  the  little  gentleman  goes  into  such  an 
insinuating  chuckle  that  Mirie  looks  at  him,  wondering 
what  is  in  his  mind;  but,  all  the  same,  thinks  it  is  a 
rare  joke  finding  such  a  creature  at  Mr.  Bulger's  villa, 
and  determines  to  get  him  an  invitation  to  the  german, 
imagining  his  dancing  must  be  unique. 

Just  here  she  suddenly  remembers  how  her  escort 
has  haunted  Bar-Sinister,  and  wondering  what  his  busi- 
ness is  in  America,  proceeds  to  examine  him;  and 
though  Levison  is  not  a  man  to  be  pumped  easily,  astute 
little  Mirie,  when  she  retires  with  the  rest  of  the  ladies 
from  the  dinner  table,  looks  curiously  at  George,  Vis- 
count Bar-Sinister,  and  getting  away  by  herself  laughs 
as  if  her  very  heart  would  break. 

Now,  this  conversation  has  been  generally  in  whis- 
pers, and  most  of  it  has  been  drowned  by  the  noise 
of  the  dinner  table;  but  a  few  words  of  it  have 
reached  the  Honorable  George's  ears  and  have  caused 
him  to  glare  once  or  twice  very  savagely  at  Miss  Mirie's 
escort.  "He's  not  the  kind  of  a  creature  I  like  to 
have  sit  down  at  table  with  me,"  thinks  Bar-Sinister  to 
himself.  "  I  can  stand  most  kinds  of  queer  people,  but 
hang  me  if  I  can  stomach  pawnbrokers — for  cuss  me  if 
I  don't  believe  that's  what  the  fellow  is.  I'll  have  a 
talk  with  him  and  draw  him  out  after  dinner."  Which 
George,  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  does,  to  his  own  misery 
and  despair. 

Most  of  the  guests  have  wandered  on  to  the 
veranda.  Bar-Sinister,  enjoying  the  last  of  his  cigar, 
has  lingered  at  the  dining  table  over  an  extra  pony 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  169 

of  brandy,  a  thing  he  always  needs  after  Seraphia  has 
sat  beside  him  for  an  hour  or  two ;  Mr.  Levison  has 
lingered  also.  He  cannot  tear  himself  away  from  some 
Burgundy  of  1874,  for  Levison  is  as  good  a  judge  of 
wines  as  he  is  of  other  things.  He  taps,  knowingly,  a 
few  of  the  plates,  and  holds  them  up  to  the  light, 
admiring  the  delicacy  of  the  china. 

After  contemplating  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  an 
expression  of  disgust  comes  into  George's  face ;  he  rises 
and  strides  toward  the  door.  But  Levison  has  a  nature 
that  resents  his  not  being  noticed.  He  cannot  leave 
people  alone.  He  springs  up  lightly,  and  following 
Bar-Sinister,  remarks,  bowing:  "Your  lordship's  very 
humble  servant!  " 

"You — you  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  observes 
George,  assuming  the  vacant  stare  that  has  helped  the 
English  nobility  out  of  many  a  tight  corner. 

"  My  lord,  I  had  the  honor  of  pulling  Miss  Seraphia 
Bulger,  your  fiancee,  out  of  the  breakers  this  morning." 

"Oh — ah-h,  yes,  I  remember  now;  many  thanks, 
many  thanks,  thought  your  face  was  infernally  famil- 
iar," and  George  strolls  into  the  library.  "Egad,  he 
won't  follow  me  here,"  he  thinks. 

But  Levison  does.  "Permit  me,"  he  says,  and  pre- 
sents one  of  his  cards 

"Yes,"  remarks  George,  "of  course,  Raphael  Levi- 
son, M.D." 

"You  remember  me  now?  I  presented  you  with  one 
on  the  steamer  coming  over." 

"Oh,  ya-as!"  returns  Bar-Sinister,  grimly;  "on  the 
steamer  coming  over  there  were  a  number  of  bores." 

"Yes,"  ejaculates  the  little  fellow  eagerly;  "yes, 
my  lord,  frightful  bores! " 

At  which  George,  looking  steadily  out  of  his  eye- 
glass, snarls:  "And  you  were  the  curscdest  bore  of  the 
lot  Gad,  we  thought  of  getting  up  a  petition  to  the 


170  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

captain  to  throw  you  overboard.  If  we'd  known  you 
swam  so  well  we'd  have  done  it.  I  see  by  your  card — • 
it  isn't  exactly  clean,  you  should  use  a  finger  bowl  after 
dinner," — Bar-Sinister  tosses  the  bit  of  pasteboard 
away,  produces  a  handkerchief,  and  coolly  wipes  his 
fingers — "  I  see  by  your  card  you  are  a  doctor!  " 

At  this  most  aggravating  procedure  a  vicious  gleam 
comes  over  the  face  of  the  ill-treated  one.  He  jeers: 
"Ah!  of  course — I'm  a  doctor,  and  am  about  to  per- 
form an  operation  on  you — he,  he,  he!  I'm  about  to 
bore  you  again.  My  lord,  I'm  not  a  doctor!" 

"So  you  acknowledge  yourself  a  blasted  charlatan. 
M.  D.  on  your  card — what  does  M.  D.  stand  for?" 

With  this  comes  little  Levison's  revenge.  "  It 
stands,  my  lord,  for  Manager  of  Debts,"  he  whispers. 
"That's  more  genteel  than  collector." 

At  which  the  Honorable  George  laughs:  "Collector! 
By  jove,  a  month  ago  you  might  have  frightened  me, 
Nebuchadnezzar! — I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean  Ra- 
phael." 

But  unheeding  this  interruption  Levison  goes  on: 
"And  I  have  followed  you  from  England  as  a  special 
agent  from  your  creditors  there  to  collect  their  bills 
the  day  you  marry  Miss  Bulger." 

To  this  George  jeers  in  sarcastic  laugh.  "  My  cred- 
itors! I  have  no  creditors,  don't  yer  know?  My 
creditors  have  gone  to  the — bow-wows!  Ah!  thank 
you,  that's  right,  Maddox,"  he  adds,  as  his  valet  ap- 
pears with  his  usual  after-dinner  dose  of  quinine. 
"Thank  you,  twenty-and-one-quarter  grains?  Always 
on  the  look-out,  Maddox.  I  drink,  Mr.  Shylock,  to 
my  creditors,  who  have  passed  away !  " 

"  I  have  in  my  pocket,  my  lord,  despite  your  hilar- 
ity, the  power  of  attorney  to  collect  sixty-four  hundred 
pounds  seven  shillings  and  six  pence,  with  interest," 
says  Levison,  and  produces  from  a  worn  porte-monnaie 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  171 

a  document  that  makes  the  Honorable  George  open  his 
eyes.  He  looks  it  over  carefully,  then  turning  to  his 
valet  who  is  just  withdrawing,  remarks:  "  Maddox,  go 
up  to  my  room,  bring  me  that  large  package  of  re- 
ceipted bills;  I  wish  to  show  it  to  Mordecai  Levison, 
M.  D." 

"You  may  jeer  at  my  name,  my  lord,"  returns  Levi- 
son, snarling,  "but  I  don't  think  you'll  joke  when  you 
look  at  those  receipted  bills." 

"No,  I  never  jeer  at  receipted  bills;  I'm  not  well 
enough  acquainted  with  receipted  bills  to  take  the  liberty 
of  being  facetious  with  them,  don't  yer  know.  But 
here  they  are ! " 

With  this  the  valet  enters  with  the  large  packet  that 
Seraphia  has  brought  with  her  from  London.  "You 
can  go,  Maddox,"  mutters  George,  and  his  servitor 
having  departed,  he  remarks:  "Now,  Abednego,  per- 
mit me  to  prove  to  you  that  your  trip  across  the  At- 
lantic has  been  as  unprofitable  to  you  as  it  has  been 
demned  unpleasant  to  me. " 

Thereupon,  tapping  complacently  the  bundle  of 
documents,  he  pases  them  over  to  the  little  financier, 
and  jeers:  "Receipts  in  full  from  every  creditor 
I  have  on  earth.  You'd  hardly  undertake  to  do  business 
for  those  that  are  in  heaven,  Dives — I  mean  Raphael ; 
you'd  never  climb  up  the  golden  stairs  to  give  them 
their  dividend,  don't  yer  know?  By  the  Lord  Harry, 
you'd  cut  up  the  golden  stairs  and  put  them  in  your 
pocket ! " 

But  George's  jokes  and  merriment  come  to  an  un- 
timely end.  Levison  examines  the  bills,  chuckles  over 
them  and  says:  "Yes,  I  recognize  these  receipts,  for 
I  gave  most  of  them  myself." 

"The  devil  you  did!  And  you  came  over  here  to 
bother  me  again  about  them,  you  infernal  scoundrel !  " 

"  Don't  use  words  that  are  actionable,  my  lord.  This 
whole  affair  is  a  little  l.ick  of  your  father's." 


172  tHE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"  Fitzminster's? " 

"  If  you'll  examine  them,  you'll  see  they  are  the  bills, 
not  of  the  present  Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  yourself,  but 
of  the  preceding  Viscount  Bar-Sinister,  your  father. 
Do  you  know  Mademoiselle  de  Lorme,  for  whose  car- 
riages he  paid  in  Paris?  Are  you  acquainted  with  little 
Baby  Bascome,  of  the  Gaiety?  Did  you  guarantee  the 
rent  of  the  flat  of  Miss  Mortimore?  Ha,  ha,  ha!' 
chuckles  little  Levison.  "The  Mnrkis  is  a  deep  one, 
he's  deeper  than  his  son.  He  conducted  the  negotia- 
tions for  you,  he,  he,  he!  And  he  gave  Miss  Seraphia 
Bulger  his  own  bills  to  pay,  not  yours  !  " 

"She  paid  Fitzminster's  bills!"  gasps  Bar-Sinister, 
and  drops  overcome  into  a  chair.  At  last  the  imper- 
turbable stoicism  of  the  British  swell  gives  way  for  one 
short  moment  as  he  mutters  between  his  teeth :  "The 
infernal  cad — my  father!  " 

Perchance  he  would  permit  himself  to  be  overcome 
with  emotion,  did  not  Levison  jeer:  "Why,  every  three- 
ball  shop  in  England  is  laughing  at  how  the  '  Markis' 
did  his  son." 

But  here  the  triumph  ceases.  Bar-Sinister  remarks, 
quietly:  "The  Marquis  never  did  his  son.  It  was  an 
understood  thing  that  Fitzminster's  bills  were  to  be 
paid,  Lazarus — I  beg  your  pardon,  Meshech. " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  Raphael  Levison," 
returns  the  little  man,  savagely. 

"Oh,  what  do  I  care  about  your  demned  name, 
Shadrach,"  remarks  the  Honorable  George.  "When 
I  marry  Miss  Bulger " 

"Yes,  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger,"  interjects  his  perse- 
cutor, eagerly.  "When  you  marry  Miss  Bulger  I'll 
come  to  you." 

"And,  by  Jove,"  says  the  Honorable  George, 
"when  you  do  come  to  me,  I'll  kick  you  downstairs. 
A  fellah  can't  rob  his  wife  to  pay  such  chaps  as  you. 
And  now,  oblige  me  by  getting  out — quick  /" 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  173 

His  manner  is  such  that  Levison  does  get  to  the 
door  quick;  but  he  leaves  a  dagger  in  the  heart  of  the 
Honorable  George,  who  is  looking  over  the  bills  and 
muttering:  "Yes;  I  don't  recognize  them.  My  God! 
I  never  was  such  a  profligate  as  these  would  make  me. 
There's  no  doubt  of  it!  And  my  governor,  who  did 
me  out  of  my  mother's  legacy,  has  now  paid  his  debts 
with  my  sale,  the  infernal  swindler!"  Then  the  un- 
happy aristocrat  puts  his  head  into  his  hands  and  sighs 
out  between  despairing  lips,  "  Evie!  " 

Looking  upon  his  victim  from  the  door,  little  Levi- 
son chuckles  to  himself:  "  It  does  me  good  to  see  a 
swell's  heart  break !  How  he  lied  to  me,  ha,  ha !  to 
save  his  father's  the  Marquis's  good  name!  How 
these  aristocrats  wince  when  their  family  honor  is 
touched." 

And  a  swell's  heart  is  breaking!  For  with  a  set  face 
Bar-Sinister  is  thinking:  "This  is  a  cropper!  I  can't 
face  my  creditors  in  England  now.  I  am  doomed  to 
marry  Seraphia.  Where  can  I  get  the  money  to  pay 
the  advances  she  has  made  for  my  father's  debts? 
There's  no  hope  for  me !  By  the  Lord  Harry,  I  shall 
have  to  kiss  her  wrinkles  and  love  her  gray  hairs !  Ah ! 
governor,  you  knew  your  son  would  keep  those  bills 
good,  because  he  cannot  tell  the  world  his  father  is 
such  an  infernal  swindler  and  a  low  down  cad." 

Then  George's  head  sinks,  and  the  tears  of  despair 
are  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MIRIE,   THE  DIPLOMATS 

BUT  here  a  soft  voice  whispers  in  his  ear,  in  exquisite 
tones  that    bring  increased  despair  to  him.     It   says 


174  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT 

lightly,  laughingly,  almost  jeeringly:  "Don't  you 
require  another  quinine  powder,  my  lord?" 

It  comes  from  Miss  Evie,  who  has  wandered  dowiv 
stairs,  to  fly  from  a  self-communing  that  is  driv;n# 
her  distracted. 

More  beautiful,  if  possible,  than  Bar-Sinister  his 
ever  seen  her,  her  cheeks  are  alabaster,  with  two  rose- 
buds on  them;  her  hazel  eyes  beam  with  nervous  yet 
saddened  sentiment.  Did  she  wish  to  torture  him  by 
the  beauty  that  is  lost  to  him,  her  careless  costume,  a 
mixture  of  evening  dress  and  ne'glig^  would  be  the 
very  thing  for  the  business.  From  it  her  soft  arms 
come  out  white  and  gleaming  with  every  graceful 
gesture.  In  its  loose  folds  of  draping  white  she  would 
seem  a  statue  did  not  the  nervous  strain  that  has  come 
upon  her  endow  her  with  simulated  vivacity  to  hide  her 
misery. 

As  he  looks  on  her,  George's  face  grows  more  set  and 
his  lips  even  paler  than  before.  He  rises,  and  mutters 
in  a  half-broken  way :  "Evelyn !  " 

"  Excuse  me,  that  is  not  the  name  by  which  I  am 
known  to  you,  sir,"  she  remarks,  warningly.  "You 
have  forgotten  yourself,  but  I  do  not  forget."  This 
last  is  a  sigh. 

"I  don't  forget,  either.  Good  Heavens,  how  I 
would  like  to!"  mutters  the  poor  wretch.  "I  only 
remember  Florida,  don't  yer  know?"  And  the  quinine 
powder  commences  to  give  brilliancy  to  his  eyes  as  he 
thinks,  affrightedly:  "Curse  that  creature  Maddox,  he 
has  given  me  a  Romeo  dose,  not  a  Machiaveli ;  I  shall 
tell  her  my  love — despite  myself  I  shall  take  her  into 
my  arms  and  kiss  her." 

"Then  how  could  you,  if  you  recollected  Florida, 
agree  to  marry — "  whispers  the  girl.  But  here  she 
suddenly  cries:  "Oh  what  am  I  saying?  What  hold 
have  I  upon  you,  what  right  have  I  to  speak  of  Florida 
to  you  when  you  are  the " 


THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  175 

"The  victim  of  a  grand  mistake,"  bursts  in  Bar- 
Sinister.  "I  came  over  here  thinking  you  were  the 
Miss  Bulger  I  was  to  marry,  that  here  I  could  tell  you 
that  I— I  loved  you ! " 

"  Don't  dare  to  speak  to  me  of  love — the  betrothed 
of  my  aunt!  Don't  dare  to  speak  of  it  to  me  now!" 
shudders  the  girl. 

"You  shall  not  think  me  indifferent  to  you.  By 
Heaven,  you  treat  me  like  a  villain  because  I  must 
marry  Seraphia.  Isn't  that  punishment  enough?  She 
paid  all  those  bills " 

"  Those  bills!  Yes,  that  is  the  reason  I  think  you  are 
a  villain.  I  could  have  loved  you  but  for  those  con- 
demning documents;  those  bills  that  brand  you  as 
unworthy  the  love  of  any  woman,  for,  i  HAVE  EXAMINED 
THEM! " 

To  this  George  utters  a  horrified  "Good  God!" 
But  the  girl  goes  on,  scornfully  but  sorrowfully,  "I 
read  their  record  of  your  depravity,  iniquity  and  de- 
bauchery and  I  discarded  you — from  my  heart !  The  man 
whose  bills  are  such  as  those  is  only  worthy  the  con- 
tempt of  women  who  respect  manhood.  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  be  a  saint,  I'm  not  even  one  of  the  advanced 
women.  I  could  have  pardoned  a  venial  sin,  but  those 
— those!"  she  waves  her  hand  toward  the  papers  on  the 
table. 

"  My  God !     They  are  not— 

"Don't  dare  to  try  and  explain!"  interjects  the  girl 
nervously.  "Don't  dare  mention  them  to  me!  " 

And  there  are  flashes  of  contempt  on  Evelyn's  beau- 
tiful face,  as  that  fetich  of  his  class  and  his  blood  rises 
up  before  him,  and  ''''Noblesse  oblige"  would  destroy 
even  hope,  for  George  mutters  brokenly:  "  No,  I  can- 
not!— But  for  Heaven's  sake — 

"  Keep  away  from  me  by  THIS!  "  cries  Evie,  desper- 
ately. 


176  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

And  their  love  would  be  lost  and  their  happiness 
would  be  beyond  regain  ;  but  the  girl  in  her  excite- 
ment has  placed  her  hand  upon  one  of  the  damning 
documents,  and  holds  it  up  waving  him  off  with  the 
record  of  his  own  sins;  for  George's  eyes  gleam,  and 
he  is  losing  his  head  as  this  beauty  stands  before  him 
like  a  statue  of  Justice,  implacable,  unpardoning. 

As  she  gazes  at  him  the  endorsement  on  the  bill 
catches  her  eye.  "Account  of  Marion  de  Lorme,  Pan's, 
February  28th,  1894. " 

"How  can  you  dare  to  look  at  me,"  she  cries, 
"with  this  bill  dated  February  28th,  1894,  in  pay- 
ment of  a  worthless  woman's  debts  for  Paris  rioting, 
the  very  day  you  met  me  in  Florida!  Paris  riot- 
ing— the  very  day  you  met  me  in — "  Evelyn  checks 
herself  suddenly;  then  screams,  as  if  half  delirious 
with  delight:  "Ah,  it  is  impossible!  That  day  you 
were  on  the  train  with  me  journeying  to  Jackson- 
ville. Why " 

In  a  flash  her  fingers  have  run  over  the  papers. 
"  Georgette  Blackbird,  March  of  the  same  year. 
You  were  in  St.  Augustine  then !  Marie  Reeves,  Lon- 
don, 1893,  when  you  must  have  been  in  Africa. 
George,  these  are  awful  mistakes,  terrible  LIES! 
Tell  me  what  they  mean — tell  me!  You  owe  it  to 
yourself,  you  owe  it  to  our  love!  " 

And  he  whispers  to  her  "Yes,  curse  noblesse  oblige ! 
I've — I've  been  offered  up  enough.  Besides,  I  have 
no  right  to  sacrifice  your  respect  for  me,  your  love  for 
me.  I'll  not  bear  your  contempt,  which  I  don't  de- 
serve. THOSE  ARE  MY  FATHER'S  BILLS!  " 

"Ah!  Thank  God!  George— your  father's  bills — --" 

"When  he  was  Lord  Bar-Sinister  and  I  was  Geoige 
Cranmere !  I  can  tell  it  to  you,  because  if  you  love  me, 
my  good  name  and  the  honor  of  my  family  will  appeal  to 
you.  Don't  whisper  it  to  any  one,  keep  it  as  I  will 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  177 

safe  from  the  world.  My  governor,  when  he  made  the 
negotiations  for  me,  which  I  thought  were  to  bring  me 
to  your  side,  insisted  upon  settlements.  I  didn't  want 
settlements,  I  only  wanted  you,  nothing  but  you, 
Evelyn — you! — you  hear  me  darling,  YOU!  But  my 
father  forced  certain  financial  arrangements.  One  was 
the  payment  of  my  debts.  But  he  didn't  give  in  my 
bills,  which  amounted  to  a  paltry  six  thousand  pounds, 
but  his  own,  those  he  contracted  when  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister,  for  forty  thousand.  For  these  are  all  his, — his 
wickedness  not  mine;  not  mine,  Evie,  not  MINE!  " 

"Ah,  thank  God!  George,  thank  God!"  Then 
they  would  be  in  each  other's  arms ;  then  she  would 
receive  kisses  she  would  think  of  afterwards  with  shud- 
ders; but  there  is  a  coming  step! 

And  like  guilty  people — not  youth,  loving  youth  with 
honest  passion,  these  two  shrink  apart  and  look  at  each 
other  in  a  startled  way,  as  Seraphia's  voice  comes  in  to 
them,  saying:  "  George,  dear,  I've  been  searching  for 
you!" 

It  is  the  betrothed  one,  seeking  her  own;  and  the 
niece,  as  the  aunt  comes  in,  grows  shamefaced  and 
turns  away. 

"Evie,  I'm  delighted  you  are  better  and  are  down- 
stairs. You  do  look  as  if  you  had  really  been  sick," 
says  Seraphia,  kissing  her.  Then  she  steps  to  Bar- 
Sinister,  and  whispers:  "  My  darling  is  also  pale.  I 
shall  have  to  nurse  my  Georgie.  But  I  have  an 
important  communication  to  make  to  you.  You  needn't 
go,  Evie,"  as  her  niece  moves  toward  an  open  window. 
"  It's  even  necessary  that  you  kr.ow  it.  She  won't 
mind  a  little  confidence  between  us,  will  she,  Gecrgie, 
dear?  It  will  interest  her,  too,  for  she  is  to  be  m\ 
first  bridesmaid." 

At  which  the  niece  gives  a  shudder  as  the  aunt  con- 
tinues: "Our  marriage-day  must  be  advanced," 


178  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

"Ad — advanced!"  echoes  George  in  a  kind  of 
embarrassed  stutter. 

"Yes;  certain  comments  in  the  newspapers  make 
me  think  it  best  not  to  postpone  too  long  the  dawn  of 
our  happiness.  Our  wedding  will  stop  journalistic  com- 
ment. What  do  you  say  to  a  week  from  to-day?" 

"A  week  from — from  to-day! — thanks,  thanks 
awfully!"  stammers  Bar-Sinister;  then  he  mutters  des- 
pairingly, "Well,  that's  as  good  as  any  other  demned 
time." 

"  Then  come  with  me,  dear;  I  shall  whisper  it  to  a 
few  of  my  particular  friends.  Abner  will  be  so  delighted 
— come ! "  For  George  is  standing  in  hesitation,  a  half- 
formed  resolution  in  his  mind  to  tell  the  truth,  throw 
up  the  whole  thing  and  let  the  row  come  now.  The 
face  of  Evelyn  as  he  gazes  at  her  makes  him 
desperate. 

But  as  he  gazes,  his  eye  catches  the  huge  package  of 
receipted  bills;  he  winces,  and  follows  reluctantly  the 
lady  who  has  purchase,  him,  to  the  veranda. 

Laughter  and  the  buzz  of  happy  gossip  and  small 
talk  coming  to  her  from  the  balcony  drives  the 
girl  from  it.  Evelyn  cannot  face  the  merry  crowd  in 
which  she  might  even  betray  her  misery. 

With  a  sigh  she  goes  up  to  her  own  room  and  would 
have  a  miserable  hour  or  two  with  herself  did  not  a 
little  playful  rap  sound  upon  her  door.  It  is  Mirie's 
pretty  knuckles  that  beat  the  tattoo. 

To  Miss  Bulger's  faltering  "Come  in ! "  the  Armitage 
infant,  waving  a  weekly  magazine  in  her  hand,  enters 
recklessly,  to  her  fate. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  mutters  Evie,  turning  her  head,  for 
fear  the  girl  will  see  the  menace  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  this!"  babbles 
Mirie  excitedly.  "  Town  Tattle  has  got  Seraphia  in  it. 
It's  rich  and  recherche.  That's  the  reason  aunt  Sera- 


THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  179 

phia's  so  eager  for  the  marriage  to  take  place  so  soon. 
I'll  read  it  to  you.  It's  awfully  clever.  Every  line 
in  it  is  a  hit  below  the  belt." 

Then  from  that  journal,  devoted  to  gossip,  the  little 
minx  reads,  excitedly  and  merrily,  as  follows : 

"  Bulger's  purchase  came  over  in  the  Teutonic  the  other  day. 
Bulger  bought  it  in  London  as  a  gift  for  his  sister,  Miss  Sera- 
phia  Pills.  It  is  a  lord,  and  is  staying  at  Bulger's  villa,  Na"- 
ragansett.  Miss  Bulger  will  soon  be  Lady  Bar-Sinister." 

"  Atrocious!  "  cries  Evie. 

"Atrocious?"  dissents  Mirie,  opening  her  blue  eyes 
astonished.  "  Why  I  envy  Seraphia.  I've  been  dying 
to  have  that  wicked  paper  print  something  about 
me;  it  makes  a  girl  the  rage.  Newspaper  notices 
change  the  bud  into  the  belle.  Why — why  how  curi- 
ously you  are  looking  at  me,  Evie!  Oh  cats!  what  did 
you  do  that  for? " 

This  last  is  in  a  frightened  tone,  for  Evelyn  Valle 
Bulger,  has  stepped  to  her  bedroom  door,  locked  it,  and 
put  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

''What's — what's  the  matter  with  you?"  gasps  the 
Armitage  infant.  "You're — you're  melodramatic. — 
Help!" 

For  an  awful  Medea  look  is  upon  Evelyn's  face ! 
"Why  do  you  cry  out  'help,'  little  Mirie?"  she 
jeers  in  rasping  voice.  "Why  are  you  so  fright- 
ened, you  household  pet?"  then  mutters  vindictively : 
"Is  it  because  you  remember  Miss  Webster 's  newspaper 
notices?" 

Here  she  might  put  vengeful  hands  upon  the  p»utty 
imp  did  not  Mirie  break  out  into  a  shriek  of  laughter. 

"Miss  Webster!  Oh,  wasn't  it  funny?  Miss  Webster 
— ha,  ha! — he,  he!  How  jealous  she  was  of  herself! 
The  sweeter  George  was  on  Miss  Webster  the 
more  Miss  Bulger  used  to  fly  up!  Ah,  how  I  did  laugh 
that  last  night  at  the  Ponce  de  Leon.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
—he!  he!  he!" 


i8o  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"  Don't  dare  to  laugh  fu>w.f"  And  the  look  upon  Evie's 
face  is  so  awful  that  panic  comes  upon  Mirie,  and  she 
casts  eyes  about  to  see  if  there  is  a  convenient  paper- 
knife  for  the  tortured  one  to  stab  her  with,  or  a  handy 
hat  pin  with  which  the  beautiful  Lady  Macbeth  stand- 
ing before  her  may  fall  upon  her  and  assault  her. 

Seeing  that  panic  has  seized  Miss  Mirabelle  Armi- 
tage,  Miss  Evelyn  Vall6  Bulger,  breaking  into  a  harsh 
laugh,  sneers  :  "  You  miserable  child  !  " 

"Yes  !  that's  the  reason  I  did  it.  Because  I  was 
such  a  child,"  answers  Mirie,  poutingly.  Then  she 
cries  out :  ' '  You  stupid,  I  wanted  to  do  a  favor  to  you !" 

"A  favor   to  me!       What  do   you   mean?" 

"Yes,  in  my  childish  innocence  I'm  always  sacrific- 
ing myself,  and  this  is  one  of  the  rewards  I  get,"  and 
tears  come  into  Mirie's  bright  blue  eyes. 

Then  she  babbles:  "You  remember,  Evie,  you  told 
me  how  you  disliked  seeing  your  name  in  the  papers. 
I  said  I'd  do  the  trick  for  you.  I  did  it  !  I  kept 
your  name  out  of  the  social  columns.  I  told  that 
Mr.  Roberts,  of  the  Jackonville  Statesman^  that  your 
name  was  Miss  Webster.  Then,  of  course,  your  real 
name  didn't  appear  in  his  journal,  did  it  ?  Wasn't  it 
cute  of  me  ? " 

"Cute  to — to  ruin  my  life?"  sighs  Evelyn.  Then, 
rage  overcoming  her,  she  breaks  out  in  candid  pathos, 
for  she  well  knows  the  astute  little  wretch  before  her 
has  probed  every  beating  of  her  heart:  "But  why, 
when  you  saw  my  suffering,  didn't  you  tell  me  ? 
When  you  saw  I  was  distracted  that  morning  we  were 
all  going  to  Southern  Florida — the  morning  I  would 
have  been  so  happy  !  Why  didn't  you  open  those  de- 
ceitful little  jaws  of  yours  and  give  me  one  -word  of  truth 
— one  word  that  would  have  saved  my  life's  happiness 
for  me  ;  one  word  to  make  me  know  that  the  man  I 
loved  was  true  to  me  ?  " 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  181 

"I— I'm  such  a  child,"  pouts  Mirabclle,  pleadingly. 
"When  I'm  frightened  I'm  such  a  child.  I  was  seaieJ 
you'd  do  something  awful  to  me.  I  was  afraid 
Ma " 

"Oh,  if  you  were  a.  child  !  "  mutters  Evie,  looking  at 
at  her  with  evil  eye. 

"Yes,"  babbles  Mirie,  "don't  you  wish  I  were  a 
ten-year-older?  Wouldn't  I  catch  it?  But  I'm  not; 
I'm  eighteen,  and  a  belle,  just  the  same  as  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  a  belle  !  You  are  jealous.  You  thought 
George  slighted  you  ;  so,  not  content  with  separating 
us  in  Florida  you've  come  over  here  to  see  him  marry 
Seraphia  and  break  my  heart — both  our  hearts,  for  he 
loves  me." 

"  Oh  how  you  misjudge  me,"  cries  Mirabelle,  a 
saint's  look  in  her  eyes.  "  I  wanted  to  make  you 
happy;  but  I'm  always  being  put  in  false  positions. 
I— I  have  wept  tears  of  blood  over  it."  And  with 
this  astounding  revelation  she  produces  some  exqui- 
site Judas  tears  and  utters  a  little  truth.  "If  people 
will  only  let  me  have  my  own  way  I'll  not  bother 
anybody." 

Then  she  astounds  Evelyn  by  murmuring:  "If — if 
you'll  forgive  me  I'll  fix  it." 

"Fix  it?    You!     How?" 

"  Never  mind  how,  but  I'll  fix  it — some  way.  I  can 
nearly  always  fix  things.  Besides,  I  wouldn't  like  to 
have  a  row  with  you,  because,  Evie " 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  because!  You'll  find  out  some  time.  But,  oh, 
birdie,  won't  it  be  a  joke  on  old  Seraphia  if  I  can  fix 
it!  Bar-Sinister'll  enjoy  it  also.  Wouldn't  he  like  to 
see  you  now,  with  that  lovely  hair  all  down  your  back 
and  those  beautiful  ivory  shoulders — mine  are  only 
snow,  you  know — Oh,  how  I  envy  you  your  ivory  back. " 

And  the  little  playful  wretch  presses  her  lips  upon 


182  THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

the  ivory  shoulders  and  laughs:  "George's  kisses;  I've 
kissed  them  for  George!  " 

But  Evie,  shaking  her  off  with  a  suppressed  shriek, 
rises  up  a  mass  of  blushes,  rage  and  despair,  and 
mutters:  "How  dare  you — how  dare  you  speak  of 
him! " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will,  because  he's  in  love  with  you.  But 
you'd  better  book  him  at  once.  George  doesn't  come 
of  a  stable  family  in  affaires  <T amour.  He  may  take 
after  his  father.  You'd  better  nail  George  when  he's 
in  the  humor.  He  adores  you  now,  because  he  thinks 
he  can't  get  you.  Fix  things  with  him  at  once." 

"How  can  I  fix  things  with  him  at  once?  How  can 
I  fix  things  with  him  ever?"  cries  Evelyn,  despairingly. 
How  can  I  play  the  traitor  to  my  poor  aunt  when  she 
was  true  to  me  and  brought  him  to  America  that  I 
might  marry  him? " 

"  Did  she  do  that?  "  screams  Mirie  in  astounded  un- 
belief. "And  you  threw  him  over?  Jingo! — You're 
not  over  bright,  I'll  admit,  Evie;  but  why  did  yen 
toss  Bar-Sinister  over? " 

"Because  I  saw  his  receipted  bills,  that  now  I  know 
are  his  father's ! "  says  Evelyn  shortly,  as  if  anxious  to 
end  the  interview. 

"Ho!  ho!  Greenhorn,  you've  struck  it  at  last!" 
laughs  Mirie.  "Wasn't  it  beautiful!  When  I  dropped 
on  Fitzminster's  little  game  of  getting  his  own  I.  O.  U.'s 
paid,  I — I  loved  the  dear  old  rake  for  it — I  admired 
him  so  much!  Fitz  is  such  a  daisy!  " 

Here  Miss  Armitage  would  be  very  jocular,  but  Eve- 
lyn breaks  out  in  awful  rage:  "You  knew  I  was 
maligning  George  and  didn't  tell  me,  you  miserable! 
You,  with  your  fiendish  tricks,  have  ruined  my  life,  and 
if  you  don't  undo  your  villainy  I'll " 

But  Miss  sly-boots  says  sullenly:  "You  needn't 
threaten  me.  Why  shouldn't  I  help  you?  Up  to 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  183 

to-day  I  had  ev«ry  reason  to  wish  Seraphia  married  to 
George." 

"Why?"     Miss  Bulger  pauses,  astounded. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  why,  you'll  know  in  time.  This 
morning  I  received  a  cable  from  mamma  that  tells  me 
all  is  settled.  I'd — I'd  like  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
George,  for  I  am  to  be — never  mind  what!  I'll  help 
you! " 

"How?" 

"  I  don't  know  how,  but  sometimes  my  childish  brain 
has  flashes  of  more  mature  intellect.  Evie,  sometimes 
I'm  real  cute." 

"  Then  put  your  elfish  diplomacy  upon  this  matter, 
or  by " 

"Yes,  let  me  go;  you  needn't  catch  hold  of  me! 
Jingo  !  don't — don't  pinch  my  arms,  they're  awful 
tender " 

"Swear  it!" 

"Yes,  I'll  swear  it  on  the  Bible.  Perhaps  I  can  fix 
it — I  will  fix  it!  Evie,  don't!  Ouch!  that  was  an 
awful  one.  Mercy! — yes — don't!  Unlock  the  door! 
I  swear  it!"  and  with  a  scream  the  Armitage  infant 
flies  out  of  the  room,  and  in  the  hallway  communes 
with  herself:  "Josh!  That  was  a  narrow  escape! 
She  looked  as  if  she  might  murder  me.  I'd  better 
keep  my  promise  to  her  or  George  will  never  do 
what  I  want  him.  How  shall  I  manage  it?  I'll  look 
the  ground  over  to-night.  Perhaps  I  may  get  a  hint 
from  some  one  of  the  party. " 

Thereupon  she  slides  down  the  banisters  and  joins 
the  gossiping  throng  upon  the  veranda;  and  there 
chancing  to  see  Levison  bending  over  Seraphia  and 
admiring  the  jewels  the  betrothed  is  wearing  this  even- 
ing for  George's  sake,  a  sudden,  but  extraordinary  idea 
comes  into  Mirie's  vivacious  brain. 

A  few  moments  later  she  beguiles  the  bill  broker  into 
a  corner  conversation,  and  havinar  craftily  led  the  way 


1 84  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

to  it,  remarks:  "I  presume  you  are  anxious  to  get 
back  to  wife  and  bairns  in  Europe?" 

"Wife  and  bairns,"  laughs  Levison.  "Do  I  look 
like  a  married  man?  So  help  me!  Nothing  would 
tempt  me  into  that  box  but  one  of  you  pretty  Yankee 
heiresses.  There's  a  good  many  of  'em  about  here, 
aren't  there  ?"  This  last  a  little  eagerly. 

"Ah!  you'd  like  to  follow  Lord  Bar-Sinister's  lead, 
would  you  ?  "  giggles  Miss  Mirabelle.  "  May  you  have 
good  luck!" 

Thereupon  the  idea  that  is  already  in  her  vivacious 
brain  suddenly  develops  itself,  and  getting  away  from 
the  object  of  her  cogitations  this  young  lady  becomes 
very  merry,  chuckling:  "Wouldn't  it  be  fun?  Oh 
my,  if  I  could!  He's  not  married!  Couldn't  I  ? — Per- 
haps I  can !  But  no — that's  too  theatrical,  too  improb- 
able. And  yet  it's  no  more  wonderful  than  making 
Evie  jealous  of  herself  in  Florida.  If  George  is  bril- 
liant enough,  /  can  !  I  wonder  if  Seraphia  will  permit 
me  a  tete-a-tete  with  her  own  beloved  Georgie  ?" 

Miss  Mirabelle  sets  about  this  matter  so  astutely 
that  while  Seraphia  is  attending  to  her  duties  as  hostess, 
the  intriguante  encounters  George,  who  is  bound  for  his 
bedroom  in  rather  a  surly  mood,  and  has  interview 
with  him  on  one  of  the  corridors  and  tells  him  lots! 

She  is  compelled  for  the  very  sake  of  her  plan  to  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it — Florida  transaction — Miss  Webster 
and  all;  and  during  some  of  this  conversation  Bar-Sin- 
ister looks  at  her  with  a  very  ugly  expression,  biting 
his  moustache  and  saying:  "I'd  like — to " 

"Oh  yes,  you'd  all  like  to,"  laughs  Mirie,  "but  you 
won't.  Seraphia  will  like  to  also  in  a  day  or  two. " 
Then  she  continues,  giving  George  certain  acute  sug- 
gestions that  make  him  gaze  at  her  astounded,  and 
mutter  to  himself  as  he  turns  away:  "By  the  Lord 
Harry,  she's  the  smartest  little  imp  this  side  of  Satan." 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  185 

But  for  all  that  the  plan  is  so  extraordinary  and 
desperate  that  Bar-Sinister  isn't  in  a  particularly  good 
humor,  and  in  his  own  chamber,  after  receiving  from 
the  hands  of  the  faithful  Maddox  his  evening  dose  of 
quinine  he  groans:  "Egad,  scripture  is  right,  the  sins 
of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon  the  sons."  Then  he 
murmurs  hopefully,  "She  believes  in  me — she  loves 
me — I'll  win  her  yet;  by  quinine!  I'll  win  her  yet!  " 

So  cheered  with  this  drug  by  which  he  swears,  George 
Ramillies  Malplaquet  Busaco  Cranmere,  Viscount 
Bar-Sinister,  goes  to  bed  and  sleeps  the  sleep  of  the 
just;  a  performance  that  is  not  participated  in  by  little 
Mirie,  who  uses  her  subtle  brain  half  the  night,  and 
chuckles  over  her  extraordinary  plan  the  other  half. 

As  for  Evie,  she  who  has  conscience,  she  suffers 
from  it.  She  thinks:  "If  I  win — poor  Seraphia!" 
But  love  is  stronger  than  ethics,  and  she  excuses 
herself  with:  "It  is  for  George's  sake  I  do  this,  not 
my  own!" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LOVE  IN  A  BRIAR  PATCH. 

THE  next  morning  the  sun  rises  bright  and  warm  on 
Narragansett,  but  it  rises  on  a  surly  George.  "  Dash 
it,"  he  mutters  to  himself,  as  he  makes  his  morning 
toilet,  "I  can't  stand  very  much  more  of  this.  The 
old  woman  is  getting  to  love  me. " 

His  pleasant  frame  of  mind  is  not  improved  by  the 
appearance  of  a  letter,  which  is  brought  in  to  him 
by  his  faithful  Maddox. 

"  It  has  come  across  the  water,"  remarks  the  valet. 

"Oh,  trust  you  for  reading  the  postmark  on  it,  you 
beggar!  "  observes  Bar-Sinister;  and  gazing  at  the  en- 


i86  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

velope,  he  adds:  "It's  in  my  demned  governor's 
hand,"  and  opens  it  to  read  the  following  remarkabl? 
epistle : 

"  MY  DEAR  BOY: 

I  suppose  this  will  find  you  cursing,  in  your  usual  undutiful 
way,  your  poor  old  father,  for  by  this  time,  I  presume,  you  will 
have  learned  from  little  Levison,  who  has  gone  after  you 
with  the  papers,  that  your  I.  O.  U's,  post  obits,  etc.,  have  not 
been  paid  by  the  lady  you  are  about  to  make  Lady  Bar- 
Sinister. 

This  trivial  mistake  occurred  in  this  way:  I  didn't  dare  to 
have  my  bills,  especially  those  connected  with  La  Belle  Black- 
bird, liquidated  by  my  future  mother-in-law,  who  is,  I  under- 
stand, a  hard-shell  Baptist,  and  would  probably  not  look  leni- 
ently on  the  frivolities  and  peccadilloes  of  my  youth.  That  in- 
fernal Blackbird  has  made  herself  so  cursedly  notorious  lately 
that  she  would  be  sure  to  catch  the  name. 

Under  these  circumstances,  and  desperately  pressed  for  the 
ready,  I  permitted  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger  to  pay  my  debts  instead 
of  yours.  Some  day,  of  course,  I'll  make  it  up  to  you,  if  not  in 
the  flesh,  in  my  last  will  and  testament,  for  you  know  I  can't 
leave  anything  away  from  you,  as  it's  all  entailed. 

Besides,  I  am  aware  Miss  Seraphia  Bulger  dotes  on  you  to 
such  an  extent  that  she'll  pardon  any  little  indiscretions  that 
may  appear  in  your  own  accounts,  especially  as  I  know  you 
have  been  a  remarkably  strait-laced  prig. 

But  I  still  think  best  to  give  you  a  hint  that  little  Levie  has 
bought  up  all  your  bills  for  himself  at  about  a  third  of  their 
market  value;  for  I  am  happy  to  say  that  now  among  London 
tradesmen  our  name  is  as  good  as  gold. 

I  should  advise  you  to  hint  to  your  Shylock  that  your  bargain 
with  Miss  Bulger  is  off,  that  you  won't  be  married  to  her.  Then 
make  some  kind  of  a  compromise  with  him;  he'll  probably  take 
about  fifty  per  cent,  before  your  wedding,  but  I  don't  think  he'H  let 
you  off  for  less  than  cent  for  cent  and  interest  after  the  cere- 
mony. A  word  to  the  wise,  etc. 

Might  I  suggest  that  it  wouldn't  be  well  to  inform  Miss  Sera- 
phia the  true  status  of  the  bills  she  has  paid  for  you.  It  might 
give  her  a  bad  opinion  of  your  family,  which  would,  of  course, 
include  you.  With  this  hint,  and  hoping  that  you  will  bring 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  187 

natters  to  a  sudden  close,  as  I  am  anxious  to  welcome  my  new 
daughter,  Viscountess  Bar-Sinister,  I  remain, 
Your  loving  and  indulgent  parent, 

FITZMINSTER. 

P.S. — From  the  preceding,  you  can  probably  form  an 
lldea  that  I  am  about  to  be  married  myself.  This  is  now  fixed, 
*D  I  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  I  am  shortly  to  give  you 
a  very  beautiful  mother.  The  young  lady  who  will  soon 
honor  me  by  becoming  the  Marchioness  of  Fitzminster  is  Miss 
Mirabelle  Armitage,  who  is  at  present,  I  believe,  with  your 
party  in  America. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  you  in  one  of  your  uncontrollable 
freaks  of  temper,  must  have  put  some  slight  upon  her  when  she 
was  a  child — in  Florida,  I  think  it  was.  Try  and  be  dutiful  to 
her  in  the  future.  As  an  observer  of  the  world  I  don't  hesitate  to 
advise  you  that  the  greatest  mistake  a  young  man  can  make 
is  to  slight  beautiful  and  innocent  girlhood.  In  two  or 
three  years  the  affronted  child  may  become  one  of  the 
belles,  perhaps  one  of  the  leaders  of  society,  and  will  not  forget, 
when  she  is  in  a  position  to  requite,  any  snub  received  when 
she  was  younger.  Take  the  advice  of  a  man  who  has  lived  in  this 
world  to  study  it  and  who  loves  you,  perhaps,  more  than  you 
deserve. — F." 

This  precious  Chesterfieldian  epistle  makes  George 
whistle  to  himself  and  give  out  ejaculations,  sometimes 
of  rage,  sometimes  of  surprise;  but  after  reading  it 
a  second  time  he  mutters  to  himself:  "Good  Gad! 
that's  the  reason  she  wants  to  aid  me.  Little  Mirie 
doesn't  want  Seraphia  posing  as  her  daughter.  That 
would  make  Miss  Sly-puss  too  venerable ! " 

And  George  is  right;  Miss  Mirie  has  precisely  this 
idea  in  her  head  this  very  morning  as  she  sits  stroking 
her  caniche's  chocolate  coat  and  looking  into  his  know- 
ing brown  eyes. 

To  him  she  communes  plaintively:  "My  poor 
Abelard,  aren't  they  treating  your  little  mistress 
shamefully  ?  They'd  give  her  a  child  of  fifty 
when  she's  only  eighteen.  But  she  won't  have  a 
wrinkled,  gray-haired  baby,  will  she?  If  the  worst 


1 88  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

comes  to  the  worst  her  daughter  sha'n't  be  over  twenty, 
and  handsome.  But  to  prevent  this  unhappy  accouche- 
ment, my  Abelard,  little  Mirie  must  do  some  work." 

Which  she  does,  sending  off  a  letter  that  she  writes 
with  much  care  and  biting  of  the  pen  and  inking  of  the 
fingers,  to  the  little  gentleman  she  has  met  the  evening 
before. 

Dispatching  this  by  her  own  maid,  as  if  rather 
fearful  of  anybody  seeing  it,  she  claps  her  inky 
hands  together  and  cries:  "Abelard,  wag  your  tail. 
I  think  your  little  mistress  has  cut  the  Gordian 
knot,  though  Seraphia  would  like  to  cut  my  throat  be- 
fore I've  finished  with  her.  Oh,  you  dear  cute  Abel- 
ard, wag  your  tail ;  you're  the  only  one  who  sympa- 
thizes with  your  poor  mistress.  Wag  your  tail  for  a 
chocolate,  darling!" 

As  the  beast  sits  munching  his  candy  and  observing 
her  with  wary  eye,  for  his  mistress  is  of  a  capricious 
disposition  and  sweets  are  sometimes  followed  by  slaps, 
she  suddenly  cries :  ' '  Great  goodness !  I  forgot  all  about 
his  letter.  I  wonder  what  old  Fitz  has  to  say.  When 
I'm  away  from  my  ancient  I  forget  all  about  him ! " 
With  this  she  opens  an  epistle  addressed  in  similar 
handwriting  to  the  one  Bar-Sinister  is  perusing  in  an 
adjoining  room,  and  after  reading  it,  giggles  to  herself: 
"Isn't  my  marquis  a  funny,  wicked  old  boy  ?  Just  you 
wait,  you  dear  old  rake,  until  I'm  married  to  you! 
Then,  Abelard,  we'll  have  fun,  won't  we,  with  venerable 
Fitzminster?  Wouldn't  he  love  me  if  he  knew  what  I 
was  over  here  for!  Wheugh!  George  must  let  me 
have  'em  for  what  I'm  doing  for  him.  Besides,  he 
doesn't  love  his  papa.  Bar-Sinister  is  an  unruly 
son,  isn't  he,  Abelard  ?  What  a  family  I  am  marry- 
ing into!  Don't  you  pity  your  poor  little  mis- 
tress? No,  you  don't;  you  know  your  little  mistress 
is  so  cute  she  can  take  care  of  herself  anywhere.  Wag 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  189 

your  tail,  Abelard,  and  I'll  give  you  another  choco- 
late," which  Abelard  does,  knowing  obedience  is  his 
only  safeguard  from  having  his  ears  well  cuffed,  and 
delighting  in  chocolates,  of  which  he  has  assimilated 
such  a  quantity  that  they  have  possibly  added  to  his 
peculiar  brownish  color. 

Whereupon  Miss  Mirie  skips  down  the  stairs 
and  flies  into  the  breakfast  room  in  a  very  merry 
humor  to  find  Evie  looking  pale,  anxious  and 
lovely,  George  handsome  and  surly,  and  Seraphia 
dignified,  but  proud  and  happy,  for  it  is  one  day  nearer 
her  wedding. 

She  has  just  finished  arranging  for  the  festivities  of  the 
evening — the  german  that  will  take  place  at  the  Bulger's 
villa.  Rather  an  impromptu  affair  as  to  invitations,  it 
will  be  an  entertainment  of  sumptuous  details.  Lan- 
der's orchestra  will  play,  the  supper  will  be  served  by 
Sherry,  floral  decorations  have  been  telegraphed  for 
from  New  York.  These  do  not  take  any  great  amount 
of  Seraphia's  time.  With  a  well-trained  corps  of  servants 
and  an  almost  unlimited  balance  at  her  banker's, 
to  entertain  like  Lucullus  is  simply  a  question  of 
giving  orders.  The  orders  have  been  given  early  in 
the  morning;  Seraphia  is  now  prepared  to  devote  her- 
self for  the  rest  of  the  day  to  George. 

"You  have  so  little  of  unmarried  life  before  you, 
Bar-Sinister,  you  must  give  it  all  to  me.  I  am  really 
becoming  a  sentimental  creature,  don't  you  think  so? 
Does  it  make  you  happy  to  have  me  jealous  of  you, 
Georgie?  "  she  murmurs  into  his  ear. 

"Oh,  demned  happy,"  remarks  her  fiance  and 
victim.  "So  demned  happy  that  I  feel  like  enjoying 
a  plunge."  And  he  looks  longingly  after  Arvid 
de  Polac,  Miss  Aurora  Taliaferro  Johnson  and  some 
other  odds-and-ends  of  the  house  party,  who  are  just 
now  departing  for  the  beach. 


1 90  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

This  suggestion  would  be  eagerly  accepted  by  Mira- 
belle  and  Evelyn,  who  are  within  earshot,  but  Seraphia 
puts  her  veto  upon  it. 

"  George,  how  can  you  look  at  the  awful  breakers 
that  nearly  drowned  me  ?"  she  whispers,  a  veiled  re- 
proach in  her  voice.  "I  should  think  you'd  tremble 
every  time  you  heard  the  cruel  surf." 

This  is  enforced  by  a  rather  petulant  pout  and  pa- 
thetic tremblings;  for  Seraphia,  filled  with  the  ap- 
proaching joys  of  marriage,  is  no  longer  the  stern 
business  woman  of  yore,  but  is  growing  into  the  sim- 
pering and  affected  maiden  of  intense  sentiment  and 
jealous  heart.  She  is  in  a  state  of  mind  that  makes 
her  fear  the  influence  of  all  young  and  pretty  girls 
upon  George — most  of  all  of  Evelyn's.  If  she  were 
asked  she  could  hardly  tell  why.  Even  in  her  own 
mind  the  aunt  scarce  guesses  the  reason  of  this  occult 
jealousy  of  her  niece,  save  that  she  now  knows  George 
and  Evie  have  met  before  in  St.  Augustine. 

So  try  how  he  may  all  this  morning,  Seraphia's  fiance* 
gets  no  opportunity  of  converse  with  his  erstwhile 
Florida  sweetheart.  Once  he  would  follow  Miss  Evie 
into  the  grounds,  where  she  has  gone  to  pluck  some 
flowers;  but  Seraphia  detains  him  to  hold  her  worsted. 
"  I'm  working  a  comforter  for  you,  my  boy,"  she  says. 
"You  ought  to  do  your  little  share.  I  think  you  look 
beautiful  this  way,  so  domestic!  " 

So  Bar-Sinister  sits  before  her  in  surly  mood,  holding 
the  worsted  in  his  brown  hands  and  resembling  Hercules 
under  the  domination  of  Omphale.  A  picture  that 
gives  Mirie  spasms  of  delight. 

A  few  minutes  after  George  suddenly  drops  the 
wool  and  bolts  from  the  veranda.  Evelyn  is  stand- 
ing upon  the  rocks  that  are  washed  by  the  surf;  but 
Seraphia,  tossing  her  workaway,  is  following  after  him. 
She  has  an  inborn  suspicion  o*  that  amusement  that 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  191 

is  such  a  favorite  at  Narragansett  Pier,  yclept  "Rock- 
ing," and  doesn't  intend  George  to  indulge  in  it 
with  anyone  else. 

Under  her  suspicious  eyes  tete-a-tete  would  not  come 
to  the  British  Romeo  and  American  Juliet  this  whole 
summer  day  were  it  not  for  dear  little  Mirie. 

Looking  at  the  trio  on  the  grounds  she  calls  out 
from  the  veranda:  "  Let's  go  blackberrying!  " 
"  Blackberrying? "  they  echo. 

"Yes.  Jimmy,  your  groom,  Evie,  tells  me  there 
are  any  amount  of  blackberries  on  the  hills  back  of 
Little  River." 

"Where's  Little  River?  "  remarks  Seraphia. 
"I  don't  know;  but  let's  go  blackberrying  anyway!" 
This  proposition  is  jumped  at  by  Bar-Sinister.     "  It 
will  be  so  delightfully  romantic,"  he  whispers  into  Se- 
raphia's  ear.    "I  shall  just  drag  you  over  fences,  don't 
yer  know?" 

And  Seraphia,  confident  that  she  can  stride  through 
briars  as  fast  as  any  one,  and  if  necessary  climb  stone 
walls  with  as  much  agility  as  the  younger  girls,  assents 
to  this,  for  she  is  excessively  afraid  George  will  make 
a  bolt  for  the  surf  in  spite  of  her.  On  land  she  thinks 
she  can  hold  her  own ;  in  water  the  two  sea  nymphs, 
Mirie  and  Evie,  will  have  much  the  vantage  of  her. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  very  shortly  afterwards, 
Seraphia  and  George  with  Miss  Wayback  and  Mr. 
Childers  Winthrop  leave  Sea  View  Villa  in  a  run-about 
wagon,  and  are  followed  by  Miss  Evelyn  in  her  pony 
phaeton,  driving  Miss  Mirabelle  Armitage;  little  Jimmy, 
the  cute  tiger,  sitting  behind  on  the  rumble,  and 
guiding  them  to  the  land  of  briars  and  berries. 

"Mirie,"  whispers  Evie,  "you  remember  your  prom- 
ise of  last  night!  " 

"  Yes,  and  your  pinches!  " 

"  Forget  those,  please,  and  see  if  you  can't  help  me 
to  have  a  word  in  private  with  him." 


192  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Oh,  I'll  fix  Seraphia,"  says  Mirie,  confidently, 
"  provided  you'll  stand  a  new  gown.  In  my  efforts  for 
you  among  the  blackberry  bushes  this  one  is  going  to 
be  ruined." 

"  Done!  "  remarks  Miss  Bulger.  "How  will  White, 
Howard  &  Company  suit  you?  " 

"  To  a  contour.  They  charge  enough."  This  is  in 
whispers,  for  Jimmy  has  very  large  and  open  ears, 
as  he  sits  behind  them. 

So  they  drive  along  Ocean  Avenue  past  the  hotels 
fronting  the  bay,  past  the  Casino,  past  the  bathing 
beach,  upon  which  George  gazes  with  longing  eyes  and 
at  which  Seraphia  gives  little  shudders,  and  skirting 
Canonchet  Lake  cross  the  old  covered  bridge,  and 
journey  along  the  road  upon  the  heights  that  leads 
towards  the  north. 

A  couple  of  miles  of  this  and  they  turn  to  the  west, 
ford  pretty  Little  River,  skirt  the  lake,  climb  the  hill, 
and  are  in  the  land  of  sand  and  rocks  and  briars  and 
blackberries. 

"  This  'ere's  the  place,"  remarks  little  Jimmy.  "I've 
fetched  some  tin  pails  for  you.  We  can  sell  'em  for  ten 
cents  a  quart  at  the  hotels." 

"As  I  pick,  I  eat,"  laughs  Mirabelle,  "so  I  sha'n't 
be  a  source  of  revenue  to  you,  Jimmy,"  for  she  has 
divined  that  Jimmy  hopes  to  have  the  selling  of  the 
berries  for  his  own  financial  aggrandizement. 

"It  will  be  quite  a  new  sensation  forme  to  eat  some- 
thing I  have  earned,"  remarks  Miss  Wayback;  then  she 
gives  a  little  scream  as  Mr.  Winthrop,  mounting  the 
stone  fence,  agilely  slings  her  over. 

"  George,  your  arm!  "  commands  Seraphia.  "  There 
must  be  a  stile  about  here  or  some  bars  to  let  down." 

"Billygoats!  Ain't  the  old 'un  skittish  about  her 
ankles? "  whispers  Jimmy  to  Maddox,  as  the  two  at 
some  distance  are  arranging  an  impromptu  lunch  j 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  193 

for  this  faithful  servitor  has,  with  his  usual  quinine 
powders,  accompanied  the  driver  of  the  light  wagon. 

"'Ush,  you  reprobate,"  returns  the  valet,  then  he 
gives  a  surprised  exclamation  of  admiration;  for 
George,  having  remarked,  "There's  no  other  way," 
has  jumped  on  top  of  the  stone  wall  and  cried  out, 
cheerily:  "Come  on,  girls!  " 

Responding  to  his  invitation,  indomitable  Seraphia, 
who,  despite  her  fifty  years  and  high-heeled  French 
boots,  considers  she  is  included  in  the  girts,  and  has 
fought  her  way  up  the  stone  fence,  and  been  swung 
down  upon  the  other  side  by  her  fiance,  who  has  not 
found  it  such  an  easy  matter  to  handle  his  betrothed's 
hundred  and  sixty  pounds  of  solid  flesh  and  bone. 

"Great  Scott!  Ain't  they  scorchers?"  whispers 
Jimmy  with  a  gulp  of  admiration,  as  Evie  and  Mirie 
with  an  agile  scramble  mount  the  stone  fence  and  jump 
recklessly  to  sand  and  blackberries  on  the  other  side. 
"Did  you  see 'em?"  he  adds  to  Maddox.  "They're 
as  clean-limbed  as  thoroughbreds,  they  are — and  such 
stockings!" 

"Get  to  work,  you  little  villain.  Pull  down  that 
'amper,  and  don't  guzzle  any  of  that  champagne  syrupt- 
itous!"  guffaws  Maddox,  and  the  two  prepare  for  the 
return  of  the  party,  who  have  wandered  off  into  the 
briar  patch  laden  with  tempting  berries,  thinking  they 
have  the  field  all  to  themselves. 

But  they  haven't. 

Mirie's  last  ripple  of  laughter  and  childish  shrieks  of 
delight  have  just  died  away  in  the  distance  when  little 
Raphael  Levison,  with  gingling  watch-chain  and  osten- 
tatious jewelry,  chances  to  drive  along  in  a  one-horse 
buckboard. 

"What  are  they  doing  over  there?"  he  asks, 
indicating  the  last  disappearing  feathers  on  the  girls' 
hats. 


194  THE    LADIES"    JUGGERNAUT. 

"Our  ladies  is  in  there  blackberrying,  and  is  going 
to  have  a  slight  dejurney  a  la  forks,  after  they  gets 
through  with  pricking  their  fingers,"  answers  Maddox. 

"Well  I'll  join  'em,"  says  Levison,  in  that  easy, 
invite-yourself  manner  peculiar  to  his  class.  "Here, 
tiger,  hold  my  horse!  "  and  he  tosses  the  reins  to  the 
astonished  Jimmy  and  scrambles  over  the  stone  fence 
in  hot  pursuit. 

"Ain't  he  a  cussed  familiar  beggar?  "  mutters  Jimmy 
to  Maddox.  "  I  don't  believe  he's  even  good  for  a 
quarter  on  this." 

"Knock  me  silly!  I  think  if  master  gets  him  over 
there  he'll  choke  the  life  out  of  "im,"  mutters  Maddox, 
"he  'ates  him  so." 

Curiously  enough  little  Levison  after  he  gets  into 
the  briar  patch  is  not  seen  by  any  of  the  party;  prob- 
ably because  they  are  too  much  occupied  with  their 
own  affairs. 

George  picks  and  eats — Evie  picks  and  eats — Sera- 
phia  picks  and  puts  them  into  a  pail.  But  though 
George  and  Evie  pick  toward  each  other,  Seraphia 
always  picks  between  them,  and  they  would  have  a 
disappointing  day  of  it  did  not  Mirie,  picking  on  the 
same  bush  with  George,  take  convenient  opportunity 
to  give  him  a  hint. 

Then  George  picks  like  lightning! — not  with  regard 
to  the  number  of  berries  but  as  to  the  ground  he  cov- 
ers. He  picks  as  if  he  were  running  a  foot  race! 
Seraphia  picks  after  him,  burdened  by  the  pail  and 
embarrassed  by  her  skirts — for  if  ever  Seraphia  wishes 
for  masculine  attire  it  is  as  she  struggles  through  black- 
berry bushes  innumerable  after  the  nimble  George. 

Then  somehow  or  other  in  the  tangled  masses  of 
that  briar  patch,  which  extends  for  acres  and  acres,  his 
affianced  loses  George.  The  briars  are  sharp,  and 
scratch  her,  but  she  forces  her  way  through  them  recfc- 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  195 

less  of  Parisian  toilet,  and  scours  the  field  with  such 
perspiring  energy  that  she  would  probably  find  the 
object  of  her  search  did  not  little  Mirie  come  running 
to  her  down  a  by-path  and  cry:  "They're  over  here, 
I  think!  I  heard  their  voices  this  way!" 

This  suggestion  puts  tremendous  energy  into  Sera- 
phia's  frame;  despite  the  burning  sun  overhead  and 
uncertain  path  beneath,  she  follows  Mirie  recklessly  as 
that  sprite  skims  along  with  agile  feet,  dodging  under 
limbs,  jumping  over  undergrowth,  and  going  through 
some  of  the  very  hardest  spots  in  the  swamp. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  of  this,  and  Mirabelle,  still  lead- 
ing, runs  Seraphia,  who  has  become  an  exhausted  and 
perspiring  mass,  into  a  tete-a-tete  formed  by  Miss 
Wayback  and  Mr.  Childers  Winthrop. 

This  young  lady  and  gentleman  do  not  seem  to  re- 
gard the  appearance  of  the  two  intruders  with  even 
complacency.  "  I  thought  you  had  very  good  berries 
over  where  you  were,  Mirie,"  remarks  the  young  lady 
querulously.  "I  didn't  think  you'd  come  over  here 
and  pick  mine." 

"I  wouldn't  have  come  if  I'd  seen  you  picking," 
laughs  Mirabelle,  sarcastically.  "I  thought  you'd  got 
all  you  wanted." 

"  So  I  have,"  returns  Miss  Wayback.  "More  than 
I  wanted  of  thorns.  Besides,  I  thought  a  snake  bit 
me  in  the  finger." 

"Did  he  suck  it?"  inquires  Mirie.  "I  observe 
you've  taken  off  your  glove. " 

"A  snake'"  cries  indomitable  Seraphia.  "Show 
me  the  reptile  and  I'll  kill  it!" 

"No!  It  was  only  a  thorn  after  all,"  murmurs  Miss 
Wayback,  blushing.  "Let's  go  back  to  lunch." 

"Yes!  I  feel  quite  exhausted,"  assents  Miss  Bul- 
ger, "I  think  George  and  Evie  must  have  already  taken 
your  view," 


196  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

So  they  scramble  back,  hot  and  dusty,  with  fingers 
well  stained  by  blackberry  juice,  toward  the  carriages, 
Seraphia  keeping  up  a  desultory  search  for  her  fiance 
and  niece.  "They  must  be  at  the  wagon,"  she  sug- 
gests. 

"Yes,  they're  doubtless  at  the  wagon,"  remarks 
Miss  Wayback,  sententiously. 

"No  doubt  they're  at  the  wagon, "giggles  Mirabelle, 
sarcastically.  For  the  imp  will  make  fun  though  Sera- 
phia's  countenance  tells  her  it  is  dangerous. 

They  are  not  at  the  wagons;  to  Seraphia's  horror 
George  and  Evie  have  not  returned. 

"Probably  they've  found  a  nice  blackberry  patch 
all  by  themselves,"  remarks  Mirie.  "We'll  look  and 
see  if  both  their  lips  are  black." 

At  this  covert  insinuation  Seraphia  puts  horrified  and 
suspicious  eyes  on  Miss  Armitage ;  then  cries  excitedly: 
"Let's  find  them,  quick!  They're  lost.  Perhaps  a 
snake  has  bitten  George." 

"  Ah-h!  Garden  of  Eden!  "  whispers  Miss  lago  into 
the  betrothed's  jealous  ear,  and  is  so  pleased  with  the 
effect  this  conceit  has  upon  her  victim  that  she  goes 
into  an  ecstacy  of  childish  glee.  Throughout  all  this  day 
the  mischievous  elf  seems  to  devote  a  good  deal  of  her 
vivacious  energy  to  producing  the  tortures  of  jealousy 
in  varying  phases  upon  Seraphia's  ardent  but  over- 
burdened soul. 

"Quick,  let's  seek  for  them,"  cries  Miss  Bulger, 
then  mutters  to  herself:  "  That  minx,  Evie,  trying  to 
allure  George  away  after  she  promised. " 

Here  tears  gather  in  Seraphia's  anxious  eyes,  and 
she  would  instantly  conduct  energetic  pursuit,  for  she 
has  already  commanded  Maddox  and  Jimmy  to  scour 
the  field,  did  not  at  this  moment  little  Levison  make 
his  appearance,  wandering  from  the  blackberry  patch. 

He  looks  concerned,  disconcerted — almost  frightened 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  197 

for  certain  .natters  have  come  to  him  from  a  neighbor- 
ing thicket  that  have  brought  agitation  upon  him. 

"  Ol ,  Mr.  Levison,  have  you  seen  them — Bar- 
Sinister  and  Evelyn?"  queries  Seraphia,  running  to 
him. 

"  I  haven't  had  the  honor  of  being  introduced  to  Miss 
Evelyn  Bulger,  yet,"  remarks  Mr.  Levison,  "but  my 
lud  is  down  there  and  there's  a  very  pretty  feminine 
voice  with  him." 

This  is  impressed  upon  his  listeners  by  a  slight 
chuckle.  At  this  moment,  to  bear  out  Levie's  informa- 
tion, George  and  Evie  make  their  appearance,  strolling 
toward  the  wagons. 

"I  say,  we  got  an  uncommonly  fine  lot  of  berries 
down  there;  you  ought  to  go  and  see  'em!  "  calls 
out  Bar-Sinister  as  he  approaches. 

"Yes,  they — they  look  like — black  thimbles,"  adds 
his  companion,  as  if  anxious  to  say  something. 

"Did  you  leave  any?"  asks  Miss  Armitage,  suspi- 
ciously. 

"A  few!    We  aren't  so  greedy  as  you  are." 

"Yes,  I  see  both  your  mouths  are  black!"  cries 
Mirie,  with  a  latent  insinuation  of  inflection  that  puts 
tears  of  anxiety  into  Seraphia's  eyes. 

At  this  remark  Miss  Evelyn  turns  away  her  head, 
and  devotes  herself  to  the  impromptu  luncheon,  which 
is  also  attacked,  especially  as  regards  the  wine,  by 
Mr.  Levison,  as  he  indulges  in  some  playful  jokes  upon 
blackberry  flirtations. 

His  wit  makes  Seraphia  look  suspicious,  and  George 
scowl,  though  he  cannot  insult  the  little  money 
shark  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  who  are  laugh- 
ing at  Levison's  remarks,  which  hit  harder  than  any  of 
them,  save  Mirie,  imagine. 

During  this  meal,  Evelyn  Vall£  Bulger  once  or  twice 
steals  surreptitious  glances  at  Seraphia,  then  turns  her 


198  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

head  away  again  with  a  kind  of  hang-dog  expression 
upon  her  lovely,  but  blushing  face. 

Though  she  makes  pretence  of  gastronomy,  she 
doesn't  seem  to  have  much  appetite,  but  Bar-Sinister 
does,  and  eats  and  drinks  in  such  a  reckless  way,  that 
Maddox  remarks,  sotto  voce^  to  Jimmy,  "  My  lud  is 
guzzling  as  if  he  wanted  to  kill  his  thoughts." 

"  I  should  think  he  would,"  answers  Jimmy,  "  when 
he's  going  to  marry  her  in  six  days  I'd  drink  myself 
to  death,  I  would !  Can't  you  spare  me  another  taste 
of  that  fizz?"  These  two  are  having  a  little  bottle  of 
wine  by  themselves  near  the  side  of  the  creek,  where  a 
convenient  thicket  screens  them  from  the  notice  of 
their  betters. 

But  the  meal  is  very  shortly  finished  and  Seraphia, 
rising  suddenly,  remarks:  "  Looking  as  we  do,  I  think 
we'd  better  drive  into  town  the  more  retired  way,  by 
the  South  Pier  road.  I  couldn't  stand  the  gaze  of  the 
gaping  crowd  at  the  Casino  and  hotels — after  black- 
berrying.  " 

"  No,  you  couldn't,"  assents  Mirie,  at  which  there  is 
a  laugh,  for  Seraphia's  face  is  bereft  of  powder  by 
perspiration  and  her  hair  and  costume  have  suffered 
from  contact  with  the  briar  patch. 

The  rest  of  the  ladies  are  not  much  better  off  and 
they  readily  agree  to  the  roundabout  but  more  private 
drive  to  the  Bulger  villa. 

So  the  party  scramble  into  the  vehicles,  all  save 
Mirie,  who,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  cries  out 
for  the  direct  road.  "I  must  get  into  town  at 
once,"  she  says.  "Seraphia,  I  expect  a  new  costume 
from  New  York  for  to-night's  dance."  Then  she  puts 
pleading  blue  eyes  upon  the  little  bill  collector  and 
suggests:  "  You'll  drive  me  in  your  buckboard,  won't 
you,  dear  Mr.  Levison?" 

"Won't  I?"  cries  the  gallant  little  money  shark. 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  199 

"I'll  do  it  for  you  quick  as  a  diamond  flashes  in  the 
sun." 

"  Very  well,  take  care  of  yourself,  Mirie,"  cries  Evie, 
who  seems  to  be  endowed  with  a  curious  nervous  ex- 
citement this  afternoon ;  and,  whipping  up  her  ponies, 
disappears  among  the  trees  further  up  the  hill. 

The  run-about  with  the  others  would  follow  her, 
leaving  Mr.  Levison  standing  by  his  buckboard,  into 
which  he  has  just  assisted  Mirabelle;  but  George,  after 
the  wagon  has  gone  a  few  paces,  tells  the  driver  to 
stop.  "I  say,  Miss  Armitage,"  he  calls  out,  "you'd 
better  join  Miss  Evelyn.  I  can  signal  her  to  stop. 
Mordecai  there  won't  care  very  much." 

At  this  cognomen  there  is  a  snicker  from  the  wagon. 

"Raphael!"  screams  the  little  financier.  "You 
seem  to  make  a  joke  of  forgetting  my  name,  my  lord, 
but  I  can  tell  you,  blackberry  patches  isn't  the  best 
places  to  hatch  black  doings.  It  won't  be  moonlight  to 
night,  my  lud."  This  he  grinds  out  between  his  strong 
white  teeth. 

"Keep  a  quiet  tongue  in  your  head,  Shadrach," 
mutters  Bar-Sinister;  but  he  says  no  more  and  the 
wagon  drives  on  up  the  hill,  Mr.  Winthrop  and  Miss 
Wayback  giggling;  though  Seraphia  has  a  half  fright- 
ened, half  suspicious  look  upon  her  face. 

Left  with  Mr.  Levison,  Miss  Mirabelle  opens  her 
frank  blue  eyes  and  puts  them  upon  her  escort  as  he  is 
gathering  up  the  reins  in  an  excited  and  savage  man- 
ner; then  she  makes  this  curious  remark:  "So  Bar- 
Sinister  and  Evelyn  Bulger  are  going  to  elope,  eh, 
Mr.  Levison?" 

"  Yes.  That  was  a  fine  idea  when  you  invited  me 
to  the  blackberry  party.  How  you  must  hate  'em," 
mutters  the  financier. 

"Yes,  I  hate  him"  replies  Mirie.  "I'm  a  good 
hater,  and  so  are  you.  I  hate  him  well  enough  to -" 


200  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

"  To  do  what?  " 

"To  give  you  revenge  upon  George,  Viscount  Bar- 
Sinister,  for  the  insults  he  has  put  upon  you." 

"Yes,  I  might  have  an  even  up  with  him,  but 
it  would  cost  too  much  blooming  money,"  mut- 
ters Raphael,  ruefully.  "If  I  told  the  old  woman 
she  might  throw  up  the  whole  business,  and  where 
would  those  bills  I  am  collecting  come  in — those 
beautiful  bills  I  bought  at  thirty  per  cent,  on  their 
face?"  iterates  Levison,  the  champagne  he  has  taken 
at  the  impromptu  picnic  having  made  him  somewhat 
talkative. 

"I'll  show  you  how  to  take  vengeance  upon  him 
without  the  loss  of  a  cent  of  money;  in  fact,  it  may 
give  you  more! "  returns  Miss  Sly-puss. 

"More!"  cries  Raphael,  his  eyes  growing  big  at 
the  thought  of  further  gain. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  suggest  to  you  a  plan  by  which  you  will 
probably  become  very  rich.  You'd  like  to  marry  an 
American  heiress,  wouldn't  you  ? "  purrs  Miss  Armitage, 
looking  archly  at  him. 

His  answer  astounds  and  horrifies  her.  "Yes,  so 
help  me  bob!  I'd  like  to  marry  you!" 

"Oh! — Oh  my!"  and  Mirie  dodges  the  financier's 
disengaged  arm,  which  would  glide  audaciously  round 
her  charming  waist. 

A  second  after  he  gives  a  shriek  of  anguish  as  Mira- 
belle  laughs  at  him :  "Attempt  that  again,  Mr.  Levison, 
and  I'll  stick  you  with  my  hatpin  once  more."  Then 
she  whispers  sternly,  "Keep  on  your  own  side  of  the 
buckboard,  please.  I'm  already  spoken  for.  Come  to 
business.  Tell  me  when  they  elope." 

"At  half-past  eleven  to-night,  from  the  road  in  the 
trees  across  the  drive  from  the  Bulger  villa.  He's  to 
have  a  carriage  there  at  half-past  eleven  to-night. " 

"Did  Evie  consent?" 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  2OI 

"Oh,  at  first  she  said  no,  but  then  we  are  a\vare  how 
these  things  generally  turn  out  when  they  both  love 
each  other  awful,"  chuckles  Raphael. 

"Very  well,  here  is  the  scheme  for  our  revenge.  But 
I  must  whisper  it,"  for  they  are  now  in  the  crowded  part 
of  Narragansett,  near  the  Casino. 

With  this  Mirie  unfolds  to  little  Levison  such  a 
bizarre,  original  and  extraordinary  plan  of  action,  that 
the  financier  first  stares  at  her  astounded,  then  breaks 
into  chuckles.  "So  help  me,  you're  a  world-beater! 
How  much  did  you  say  that  pretty  Evie  Bulger  was 
worth?" 

"Oh — more  money  than  you'll  ever  get  any  other 
way  ! " 

"  But  she  may  discover  me." 

"Not  before  you  have  fled  together  far  enough  to 
place  the  game  in  your  own  hands,  if  you  manage  the 
matter  discreetly.  That  will  mean  revenge  for  me." 

"But,  gad,  Lord  Bar-Sinister  will  break  my  bloom- 
ing neck!  "  and  at  the  thought  Raphael  grows  pale. 

"  No,  he  won't,  he  dare  not  say  a  word!  That  will 
make  his  marriage  certain  to  Seraphia,  and  you  sure 
of  your  collection." 

And  as  they  ride  on,  she  whispers  to  him  such  cute 
suggestions  that  Levison  rolls  his  eyes  and  ejaculates: 
"My!  you're  smart  enough  to  be  a  dealer  in  old 
masters,  you  are. " 

"  Never  mind  how  smart  I  am;  are  you  smart  enough 
and  have  you  pluck  enough  to  do  it?  You  say,  the 
carriage  will  be  waiting  at  half  past  eleven.  I'll  show 
you  how  to  work  it. " 

"So  help  me,  111'— I'll  do  it!" 

"  Then  I'll  borrow  George's  cloak  and  hat  for  you. 
Remember — at  half  past  eleven,  if  you  would  wed  a 
Yankee  heiress  and  have  revenge. " 

"  By  the  five  books  of  Moses! ''  mutters  the  little  fel 


202  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

low,  "I'll  not  fail  you!  We're pards  now!"  and  putting 
Mirabelle  down  in  the  forte  eochtre  of  the  Bulger  villa, 
he  drives  away,  chuckling  to  himself:  "  Lord,  if  I  can 
only  get  my  courage  up.  That  Evie  is  beautiful  as 
Susanna  amid  the  Elders,  and  that  Mirie  is  downey 
enough  to  be  the  wife  of  a  pawnbroker,  she  is !  Isn't  it 
picturesque  how  she  hates  her  cousin!  " 

As  for  the  subject  of  his  eulogy,  she  stands  looking 
after  him,  thinking:  "  By  any  one  who  didn't  know  my 
generous  nature,  I  should  be  misconstrued,  but  I'm 
always  sacrificing  myself  for  others  in  my  childish,  art- 
less way.  Oh,  fire-flies!  I  believe  old  Seraphia  would 
wring  my  soft  little  neck  if  she  guessed. "  With  this, 
she  giggles  all  the  way  up  the  stairs,  and  getting  to  her 
room,  tells  her  maid  to  put  out  an  exquisite  gown  of 
tulle  that  Pingat  has  made  for  her  in  Paris,  showing 
that  little  Mirie  doesn't  always  tell  the  truth  about  the 
dresses  she  is  expecting  from  New  York. 

A  few  minutes  after,  hearing  the  noise  of  the  arriving 
party,  she  slides  down  the  banisters,  and  Seraphia  being 
occupied  by  change  of  toilet,  obtains  a  very  quiet 
tete-a-tete  with  George,  during  which  the  two  speak 
under  their  breath. 

"I  say,  did  little  Levie  drop?"  remarks  Bar- 
Sinister,  grimly. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have  arranged  it  all.  Have  you 
done  your  part? " 

' '  Of  course !  I've  ordered  two  fast  horses  and  carriage 
to  be  in  waiting  at  the  proper  place  to-night,  and  I've 
given  instructions  for  them  to  drive  the  eloping  couple 
to  Westerly  to  catch  the  midnight  train  bound  for 
New  York." 

"  Did  Evie  consent  to  elope?  " 

"Not  a  bit!"  returns  Bar-Sinister.  "She  hesitated, 
but,  God  bless  her,  at  the  last  she  said  she  couldn't  do 
it.  She  said,  '  I'll  break  my  heart  honestly  or  I'll  be 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  203 

happy  honestly,  George.  I  can't  have  Seraphia  despise 
me — honest  old  Seraphia,  who  brought  you  over  for 
me.'" 

"  Then  Evie  won't  go?  " 

"Of  course  not;  but  the  way  you  suggested  is  much 
better.  It'll  place  the  onus  of  the  affair  on  Seraphia," 
he  laughs. 

"Very  well,  you  must  persuade  Evie  to  thoroughly 
arouse  her  aunt's  jealousy,  and  to  make  the  appearance 
of  eloping — to  be  in  her  room  dressed  for  departure  at 
11.45.  Do  you  think  you  can  do  that?  " 

"Not  the  last  part  of  it,"  remarks  Bar-Sinister, 
gloomily.  "Evelyn  won't  be  a  partner  in  our  trick 
upon  her  aunt,  I'm  sure  of  that."  Then  he  sighs 
romantically,  "Mirie,  I'm  in  love  with  an  angel." 

"Oh  birdie!  Go  and  quininize  yourself!"  jeers 
Mirabelle,  merrily,  to  this  suggestion. 

But  George  goes  on  moodily:  "As  for  the  jealousy 
part,  I  presume  I  can  work  that  up  on  my  own 
account." 

"Very  well.  You  make  Seraphia  frantic  and  I'll 
do  the  rest,"  says  Mirie,  confidently. 

"I  say,"  Bar-Sinister  asks,  suspicion  in  his  voice, 
"you're  not  after  some  new  and  more  infernal  ruse 
against  my  happiness  than  that  Florida  one,  Mirie? " 

"  No,  I'm  always  true  as  steel,"  answers  Miss  Armi- 
tage,  and  her  blue  eyes  look  very  frank  and  ingenuous. 

"  Then  why  are  you  doing  all  this  for  Evie  and  me?" 

"Because,  my  boy,"  she  whispers,  "you  are  going 
to  give  me  some  of  those  La  Blackbird  bills  Seraphia 
paid  for  your  wicked  old  father.  THAT  WAS  ONE  OF 

MY  OBJECTS  IN  COMING  TO  AMERICA." 

"By  Jove!" 

"That  will  even  you  with  Fitzminster,  and  those 
bills  will  be  very  convenient  to  papa's  bride  after  mar- 
riage. Trust  your  mother,  Georgie,"  she  laughs,  and 


204  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

goes  away  merry  and  light-hearted,  though  she  leaves 
him  stupefied. 

But  getting  to  the  privacy  of  her  own  chamber,  Mira- 
belle's  face  becomes  meditative.  She  murmurs:  "How 
can  I  ever  do  it?  "  Then  remarks  pathetically  to  her 
poodle,  who  rubs  his  chocolate  nose  in  her  hand :  "  Dog- 
gie Abelard,  if  your  little  mistress  can  do  this  she  has 
a  brain  that  discounts  Solomon's,  and  is,  oh !  so  very 
much  brighter  than  that  dyspeptic,  ecclesiastical 
Romeo  after  whom  I  named  you.  For  do  you  know, 
Abelard,  it  was  once  the  ambition  of  my  childish  soul 
to  marry  a  monk  ?  But  I'm  more  practical  now,  dear 
old  Abelard.  Have  a  chocolate?"  SMACK! — "I  told 
you  I'd  box  your  ears  if  you  didn't  catch  it.  Stop  your 
miserable  canine  yelping  and  let  your  poor  little  mis- 
tress THINK!" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NEWPORT    VISITS    NARRAGANSETT. 

IT  is  evening.  Sea  View  Villa  is  alight  from  turret 
to  foundation.  Lander's  orchestra  are  tuning  their 
instruments,  screened  from  the  dancing-room  by  palms 
and  evergreens,  and  Sherry  has  taken  possession  of  the 
kitchen. 

Seraphia,  dressed  as  a  bud,  and  standing  beside 
Evelyn,  is  assisting  in  receiving  the  guests.  "Don't 
we  look  like  twins  ?  "  she  says  proudly  to  her  fair 
niece ;  for  a  very  nai've  and  girlish  idea  has  come 
into  the  betrothed  one's  head  as  regards  her  toilet. 

She  has  brought  two  exceedingly  juvenile  and  artistic 
costumes  from  Paris,  both  originally  intended  for  her 
niece.  Upon  the  announcement  of  her  engagement  to 
Bar-Sinister  Seraphia  has  given  but  one  of  them  to  Evie ; 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  205 

the  other  she  has  had  extended  and  let  out  to  suit  her 
more  robust  figure. 

This  one  she  wears  this  evening,  and  as  both  gowns 
are  of  white  gauze,  with  about  the  same  gimcrack 
effects  as  to  trimming  and  general  style,  and  as  Evie 
chances  to  have  decorated  her  exquisite  self  with  the 
other  one,  the  two  Miss  Bulgers,  younger  and  elder, 
this  evening  resemble  each  other  as  to  costume  quite 
closely — though  in  no  other  way. 

For  Evelyn  to-night  looks  even  more  ethereally  beau- 
tiful than  perchance  she  has  ever  done.  A  kind  of 
nervous  intensity  seems  to  be  in  every  glance  of  her  eyes 
and  pose  of  her  head;  a  flush  of  excitement  is  upon 
her  fair  and  delicate  cheeks;  her  eyes,  though  won- 
drously  vivacious,  seem  to  conceal  tears.  Whenever 
her  aunt  speaks  to  her,  Evelyn  turns  away  her  head, 
blushes  rosy  red  and  grows  curiously  embarrassed. 

"What  are  you  playing  the  startled  fawn  act  for 
now  ?  "  whispers  Mirie,  who  looks  like  a  floating  snow- 
cloud,  pure  and  immaculate  in  white  lace  and  chiffon, 
from  which  peep  dimpled  shoulders.  "  He  is  not  down 
yet — you'll  make  Seraphia  suspicious." 

And  Mirie  is  right;  the  betrothed's  latent  jealousy 
of  the  morning  becomes  more  active  as  the  night 
goes  on. 

Once,  unable  to  contain  herself,  the  aunt  whispers  to 
her  niece  :  "Evie,  why  don't  you  look  at  me  ?  Is  it 
because  your  conscience  twits  you  about  me  and 
George?" 

To  this  the  girl  gives  no  answer  save  a  slight  laugh, 
and  moves  nervously  away. 

"Oh  my  soul  !  Would  she  rob  me  of  him  ?  "  shudders 
Seraphia,  and  trembles  as  she  gazes  on  her  niece's 
beauty;  for  the  contrast  as  they  stand  near  each 
other,  in  almost  similar  toilets,  makes  the  aunt  appear 
older  than  she  otherwise  would. 


2o6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

This  fact  impresses  itself  on  Mr.  Bulger  as  ho 
bustles  about.  "Take  my  advice,"  he  says  in  his  prac- 
tical, hard-headed  way,  "and  don't  run  opposition  to 
babies,  Seraphia.  If  you  want  to  dodge  pneumonia 
hoist  your  old  black  silk  dress  again — quick  !  " 

"Why,  Abner,  what  nonsense!"  his  sister  giggles 
indignantly.  "George  likes  me  in  girlish  costume. 
When  I  become  a  frisky  matron  and  settle  down  I'll 
think  about  black  silk.  As  it  is,  attend  to  your  busi- 
ness and  get  that  band  going  !  " 

Then  she  looks  around  for  George,  but  he  has  not 
yet  made  his  appearance. 

Curiously  enough,  over  his  dressing  table,  in  the 
room  above,  the  young  gentleman  of  her  thoughts  is 
holding  a  conversation  with  his  valet  that  would  make 
Seraphia  jump  did  she  but  hear  it. 

"You  don't  mind  my  going  downstairs,  my  lud, 
and  'elping  the  butler  with  the  swells  ?  "  asks  Maddox. 

"Not  at  all,"  laughs  George;  then  he  adds  suddenly, 
and  in  a  whisper:  "  Before  you  go,  one  thing." 

"Yes,  my  lud." 

"Is  everything  arranged  as  I  told  you?" 

"Yes,  my  lud." 

"  The  carriage  with  the  driver  ordered  ?  " 

"It  will  be  ready  at  half -past  eleven,  as  you  di- 
rected." 

"In  the  shrubbery  ?" 

"Yes;  in  the  road  that  leads  through  the  trees,  just 
opposite  'ere." 

"Hm— fast  horses?" 

"Yes,  yer  ludship,"  mutters  Maddox,  who  has  a 
perturbed  appearance. 

"You  understand  me;  that  you  go  also  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  The  driver  has  instructions  as  soon  as  both  are  in 
the  carriage  to  drive  to  Westerly  and  catch  the  first 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  207 

express  that  passes  through  after  twelve  o'clock  ?  Be 
very  careful.  The  one  for  New  York." 

"Yes,  sir. 

"  Then,"  says  George,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "so  far, 
so  good.  Now,  listen  to  me,"  he  adds,  to  Maddox. 
"  Have  a  twenty-two  and  a  quarter  grain  quinine  ready 
at  half-past  eleven,  sharp.  Sneak  it  into  a  chocolate 
'•ce-cream,  and  get  it  to  me  in  the  refreshment  room. 
It  excites  too  much  infernal  comment  if  you  bring 
those  powders  in  sherry." 

"Yes,  sir,"  mutters  Maddox,  a  frightened  look  com- 
ing into  his  face. 

"Very  well,  you  can  go;  and  keep  yourself  demned 
sober.  And  if  you  breathe  a  word " 

"I  won't,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Remember  there's  a  hundred  pound 
note  waiting  for  you  at  the  end  of  this  affair, 
Maddox." 

With  a  slight  laugh  on  his  lips  Bar-Sinister  strides 
out  of  his  chamber  and  down  the  stairs,  remarking  to 
himself:  "Now  then,  to  give  Seraphia  a  touch  or  two 
more  of  jealousy  and  make  young  Shadrach  hate  me  a 
little  stronger,  and  then  I  must  trust  dear,  devilish  little 
Mirie.  By  Jove !  what  a  crush  there  is.  So  much  the 
better,  general  privacy  is  a  general  crowd!" 

For  the  Newport  boat  having  arrived,  special  carriages 
chartered  for  the  occasion  are  bringing  up  such  a  mass 
of  coroneted  aristocrats  that  Maddox,  who  strides 
down  to  the  aid  of  the  Bulgers'  flunkey,  remarks:  "  By 
Jinks,  you've  got  as  many  blooming  titles  in  there  as 
we  'ave  at  a  ball  in  Belgravia,  including  the  foreign 
counts,  which  I  don't  count." 

And  Mr.  Maddox  tells  the  truth,  for  of  titles  there 
are  enough  and  to  spare.  Some  of  them  may  be  a 
little  shady ;  not  all  of  them  would  probably  bear  the 
inspection  of  the  Heralds  College,  or  comparison  with 


ao8  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

the  Almanach  de  Gotha ;  but  here  they  are,  and  Seraphia 
is  happy — happy  and  proud ;  for  George  is  standing  by 
her  side  now. 

"Darling,  you've  kept  me  waiting,"  she  flutters. 
"How  handsome  you  look.  How  that  white  carnation 
boutonniere  becomes  you.  Did  he  receive  it  with  his 
Seraphia's  love?" 

"  No.  I  got  it  with  a  blarsted  pin  in  it,  which  butch 
ered  my  finger,"  replies  Bar-Sinister  savagely.  But  he 
hasn't  much  time  for  lover's  speeches,  as  his  fiancee 
makes  it  a  point  to  introduce  him  to  every  one ;  and 
being  anxious  for  the  social  glory  of  the  guests  of  the 
House  of  Bulger,  goes  into  slight  descriptions  of  their 
genealogy  and  standing  in  the  community,  especia!'.y 
where  they  have  no  titles. 

"My  lord,"  she  says,  "let  me  present  you  tc  Miss 
Amelia  Pandora  Back-Bay.  Miss  Back-Bay,  Lord 
Bar-Sinister." 

"Howdy  do?  howdy  do?"  says  George,  forcing 
himself  to  be  affable. 

"Miss  Back-Bay,"  continues  Seraphia,  anxious  to 
impress  the  young  lady's  social  importance  on  her 
fiance,  "is  a  scion  of  one  of  our  oldest  families — 
came  over  with  the  Puritans." 

"  Oh,  ya-as," assents  Bar-Sinister,  "Plymouth  Rock, 
and  all  that,  don't  yer  know?"  Then  he  adds  rather 
snappishly:  "I  say,  don't  yer  think  I've  read  history, 
Seraphia? " 

At  which  Miss  Back-Bay,  who  is  Boston  from  the 
tips  of  her  gloves  to  the  ends  of  her  dancing  slippers, 
laughs  and  remarks:  "You  didn't  come  over  to  assimi- 
late history,  did  you,  my  lord?  Cupid,  not  Clio,  called 
you  to  America.  Let  me  congratulate  you";  and  gives 
him  such  an  insinuating  glance  that  Seraphia  giggles 
from  very  joy,  but  goes  on  presenting. 

"  George,  permit  me  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Giace 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  209 

Rappahannock  Courthouse.      Miss  Courthouse  is  one 
of  our  oldest  Virginia  families — came  over  with   the 


"Oh,  ya-as,  I  know,"  chips  in  Bar-Sinister  eagerly. 
" Came  over  with  the  Indians.  Howdy  do?  Howdy 
do?" 

At  which  Miss  Grace,  though  she  is  generally  proud 
of  having  streaks  of  Pocahontas  and  Pottawattamie 
blood  in  her  veins,  turns  away  rather  discomposed. 

"Madame  la  Baronne  de  Vieille-Roche,  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister,"  remarks  Seraphia,  getting  away  from  the 
embarrassed  Indian  maiden.  "Madame  la  Baronne 
has  told  me  that  she  met  you,  George,  at  Monte 
Carlo." 

"Oh  ya-as,  thanks  awfully,"  replies  George. 
"  Ya-as,  it's  no  telling  who  the  deuce  you  do  meet 
at  Monte  Carlo!" 

Now  this  style  of  conversation  does  not  add  very 
greatly  to  Viscount  Bar-Sinister's  popularity  this 
evening,  but  upon  no  one  invited  to  the  Bulger  villa 
does  he  make  such  an  unfavorable  impression  as 
upon  little  Levison. 

After  a  few  turns  around  the  room  with  his  fiancee 
hanging  on  his  arm,  George  succeeds  in  making  a 
disappearance  somewhat  similar  to  that  of  the  black- 
berry patch  in  the  forenoon.  A  crowded  ballroom  is 
about  as  convenient  a  place  for  mysterious  disappear- 
ances as  the  slums  of  a  great  city.  And  Bar-Sinister 
promptly  and  mysteriously  disappears  from  Seraphia's 
vision. 

To  avoid  her,  he  plunges  into  a  little  anteroom.  Thens 
looking  at  his  watch,  he  mutters,  rather  nervously:  "A 
quarter  past  eleven !  " 

At  this  moment  he  finds  himself  confronted  b> 
Mr.  Raphael  Levison,  who,  in  dress  suit  and  verj 
elaborate  jewelry,  thinks  himself  a  swell  among  swells. 


aio  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"  My  lord!  "  says  Levison,  who  can't  bear  not  to  be 
noticed,  bowing  before  him. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  "  remarks  George,  a  sneer  on  his 
lips.  "Didn't  know  you'd  turned  waiter,  Potiphar — 
I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean  Pharaoh.  I'm  always  for- 
getting your  demned  name." 

"Sir,"  remarks  the  little  man,  drawing  himself  up, 
"my  name  is  Raphael  Levison,  as  I  have  told  you 
before;  and  I'm  not  a  waiter,  unless  it  is  waiting  for 
YOU  to  pay  your  bills." 

"Ya-as,  I  remember."  Bar-Sinister  adjusts  the 
binocular  in  his  eye  and  looks  over  the  gentleman  con- 
fronting him,  with  a  placid  stare.  "You're  waiting  in 
America  to  collect  six  thousand  and  odd  pounds  the 
day  I  marry  Miss  Bulger.  Hope  you're  a  good  waiter — 
don't  get  tired  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  yer  know." 

"Don't  fear  me,  my  lord,"  mutters  Levison.  "I'll 
stick  to  you  like  a  postage  stamp. " 

"I  say,  how  the  devil  did  you  get  in  here,  anyway?  " 
queries  Bar-Sinister  in  his  most  nonchalant  tone. 

"  Like  you,  I  was  invited.  I  didn't  sneak  my  way 
into  Mr.  Bulger's  german;  but  I'm  going  to  dance  it 
with  Miss  Evelyn.  Ta!  ta!  they're  preparing  for 
the  cotillion." 

"You  are  going  to  dance  with — with  Miss  Evelyn! 
You  are  going  to  put  your  greasy  arm  around  her  beautiful 
waist?"  falters  George,  looking  in  something  like  horror 
upon  the  little  bill  collector.  Then  he  breaks  out: 
"By  Jove,  if  you  dance  the  german  with  her,  I 
shall  ask  permission  to  lead  one  figure  of  it.  And  in 
that  figure  I  will  kick  you  around  the  room  and  tell 
them  it's  the  latest  imported  fad  for  the  cotillion,  the 
Harvard-Princeton-Yale-football  figure,  don't  yer  know. 
And  they'll  all  follow  my  lead,  don't  yer  see,  and  jump 
on  you.  They'll  think  it's  the  proper  thing,  you  know, 
to  imitate  me,  those  little  chaps  in  there — the  new 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

English  figure  will  be  a  success,  don't  yer  see!  But 
there  won't  be  much  left  of  you  to  enjoy  it,  demned 
if  there  will ! " 

"If  you  lay  a  hand  on  me,  so  help  me — or  a  foot 
either,"  mutters  little  Levison,  "  I'll  blow  on  you.  I'll 
tell  how  you  are  marrying  the  old  woman  for  her 
ready.  I'll  tell  her  you  love  the  pretty  one — the  one 
you  think  would  be  contaminated  by  my  arm  in  the 
mazes  of  the  dance.  I  will,  by  the  soul  of  Potiphar  and 
Pharaoh  and  every  other  blasted  thing  you've  called 
me— 111  tell  her!" 

But  just  here  Seraphia  comes  in  commandingly  and 
says:  "George,  I've  been  looking  for  you.  This  is 
our  dance,  Bar-Sinister." 

On  this  George  gives  a  sardonic  laugh  and  whispers 
into  Levison's  somewhat  oily  hair:  "Tell  her  !  Lay 
yer  two  to  one  in  monkeys — yer  don't  dare  tell  her !  " 

But  Seraphia's  figure  is  so  imposing,  her  mien  so 
majestic,  her  eyes  so  indomitable,  that  little  Levison 
quails  before  her  and  has  not  the  courage  to  inform  her 
that  any  man  is  marrying  her  for  her  money,  or  that 
any  man  is  going  to  elope  from  her. 

Looking  on  this  George  gives  another  vicious  laugh, 
and  leads  Seraphia  away  to  walk  through  the  Lancers 
by  her  side. 

"  By  Heavens  !  I  wonder  if  you'll  laugh  to-morrow 
morning  at  me,  my  lord,"  snarls  Levison,  after  his  de- 
parting persecutor. 

Suddenly  he  gives  a  horrid  snicker. 

Mirie  is  looking  at  him  from  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment like  a  wandering  fairy.  Her  bright  eyes  gaze 
inquiringly  upon  him;  she  steps  to  him  and  playfully 
whispers:  "Are  you  ready  for  your  Lochinvar  act  to- 
night?" 

"So  help  me  !  Give  me  two  more  glasses  of  cham- 
pagne and  I'll  do  the  trick,  if  he  kills  me  for  it.  Won't 


a  12  THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT. 

?t  be  a  joke  on  him  ?  Won't  he  offer  up  horrid  curses 
when  he  discovers  the  little  joke  we've  played  on  him  ? " 
"Come!"  whispers  Mirie,  unheeding  Mr.  Levi- 
son's  excited  ejaculations.  Then  she  quickly  leads 
the  way  out  of  the  room  followed  by  her  co-con- 
spirator, though  just  at  the  door  the  fairy  cannot 
repress  a  merry  elfin  giggle.  Levison  fortunately 
thinks  this  is  caused  by  glee  at  the  despair  that  is  to 
come  upon  the  Right  Honorable  George,  and  proceeds 
to  his  adventure  quite  sturdily. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   QUININE  ELOPEMENT. 

IN  the  ballroom,  Bar-Sinister  has  scarcely  finished 
his  dance  with  Seraphia  when  Mirie  appears  among  the 
moving  throng.  She  gives  him  a  look  that  tells  its 
tale.  At  his  first  opportunity  George  flits  from  his 
fiancee's  side  and  has  private  converse  with  the  elfin 
sprite.  Her  eyes  are  big,  mysterious  and  excited. 

She  whispers:     "  Now  is  the  time  to  do  your  part." 

"  Is  Levie  booked  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  just  left  him  seated  in  the  carriage  and 
waiting  for  the  coming  one." 

"You  don't  think  she  will  recognize  him  ? " 

' '  Hardly ;  I've  taken  the  liberty  of  disguising  him  in 
your  hat  and  overcoat." 

"God  bless  you  for  the  theft,"  mutters  George, 
wringing  her  hand. 

"Now,  do  your  part;  get  Evie  and  devote  five 
minutes  to  making  Seraphia  supremely  jealous.  Then 
disappear  both  of  you.  Of  course,  if  your  fiancee  sees 
you  here  or  about  the  grounds  she  won't  believe  you're 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  213 

going  to  bolt,  and  that's  an  end  of  the  affair."  Then 
she  adds  consideringly:  ''When  the  carriage  has  driven 
away  I  must  see  you  at  once.  We  must  prevent  all 
scandal,  if  possible." 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that,"  says  George.  "  I've 
got  Jimmy  in  another  turnout  ready  also.  I  shall  pursue 
them  in  the  form  of  the  indignant  lover  to  force  him  to 
marry  her." 

"Oh,  what  fun  it  will  be,"  giggles  Mirie.  "Get 
Evie  and  make  Seraphia  jealous  first,  then  count  your 
chickens. " 

With  this  sage  advice,  Miss  Armitage  places  herself 
near  the  "betrothed's"  side  to  do  her  part  in  the 
affair. 

Now,  this  kind  of  business  being  very  much  to  his 
liking,  George  departs  about  it  with  unusual  vigor,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  the  morning  gets  word  with  the 
beautiful  creature  whose  loveliness  this  evening  makes 
his  eye-glass,  that  he  carries  so  superbly,  quiver  with 
anxiety — he  is  so  afraid  he  will  lose  her. 

On  seeing  him  Evelyn  mutters  reproachfully: 
"  Didn't  I  ask  you  not  to  speak  to  me  until — until  I 
could  answer  you  in  an  honest  way,  and  not  thrill  with 
shame  every  time  I  look  at  Seraphia's  trusting  face  ? " 

"You  can  surely  accept  my  attentions,"  answers 
Bar-Sinister,  chewing  his  mustache,  "as  you  do  those 
of  any  other  gentleman  in  the  ballroom. " 

"Well,  then,  not  one  word,"  whispers  the  girl 
excitedly,  "  of  what  you  spoke  to  me  this  morning. 
Don't  make  me  blush  every  time  I  think  of  you. 
Don't  look  at  me  so." 

"  Of  course  not!  Just  give  me  a  dance,  to  keep  my 
eyes  off  of  you — won't  yer,  now?  Once — just  for 
Florida!" 

His  eyes  have  something  in  them  very  hard  to  resist. 
"Yes,"  answers  the  girl  impulsively. 


214  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

He  passes  his  arm  around  the  dainty  waist  that 
trembles  under  its  lace  and  satin  in  answer  to  the  caress 
of  his  gloved  hand.  They  dance  together — the  music 
takes  them  back  to  St.  Augustine  when  the  band  on  the 
Loggia  first  stimulated  the  passion  in  their  souls. 

"I  say,"  he  whispers,  "isn't  this  paradise,  don't. yer 
know  ? " 

"George,  remember  your  promise, "  falters  the  girl 
and  withdraws  from  his  arm.  "  Seraphia's  looking!" 

"That's  what  I  want  her  to  do,"  says  Bar-Sinister, 
cheerily.  "  I  want  her  to  be  deuced  jealous!  " 

"Of  me?     Horrible!" 

"  Because  if  she  is  I  think  she  will  break  off  with  me 
to-night.  In  any  event  I  tell  your  father  to-morrow 
morning.  I  can't  stand  this  double  dealing  any  longer. " 

"Oh,  George!"  murmurs  Evie,  "neither  can  I! 
Tell  me  all  about  it. " 

The  next  moment  they  are  seated  side  by  side  in  a 
cool  part  of  the  conservatory. 

This  last,  in  Seraphia's  present  state  of  mind,  drives 
her  distracted,  for  she  is  not  able  to  get  to  them  at 
once.  A  French  Count  insists  upon  monopolizing  her. 
At  any  other  time  his  attentions  would  be  pleasing. 
Now  they  are  distracting,  maddening. 

"You  vill  permit  me  to  remain  by  ze  side  of  ze 
beautiful  queen  of  ze  fete,"  murmurs  the  Parisian.  "  I 
could  not  leave  you  if  I  were  to  be  sent  away.  Ycur 
exquisite  niece,  she  is  ver'  beautiful  too.  Man  Dien  ! 
She  should  be  transplanted  also.  Ah,  zat  would  be  to 
me  un  beau  plaisir  !  One  of  ze  beaut'ful  Miss  Bulgers 
to  England,  ze  other  to  France,  that  is  not  far,  you 
could  visit.  Ah !  ze  loveliness  of  this  country  will  soon 
be  taken  from  it.  Pauvre  AmMque  /" 

"Yes,  yes,  Count,"  murmurs  Seraphia;  "bat — " 
this  is  almost  a  gasp,  "where  is  my  niece?  Where  is 
Lord  Bar-Sinister? " 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  215 

She  starts  from  the  Count's  side ;  for  George  and 
Evie  have  suddenly  disappeared. 

She  would  follow  in  pursuit  of  them,  but  at  this 
moment  Mirie  suddenly  clutches  her  arm  and  whispers : 
"Seraphia,  I've  got  something  awful  to  tell  you." 

"Yes,  but  where's  George  and  Evie?" 

"You  must  listen  to  me  first,  it  is — come  this  way, 
keep  your  nerves  quiet — it's  about  them  /  " 

1 '  About  them  ?    Tell  me  at  once !" 

"  No,  promise  to  be  calm." 

"I  am  calm." 

"Promise  to  be  quiet." 

"Don't  you  see  I'm  quiet?  Don't  buzz  about  me 
like  a  mosquito — get  to  biting!  "  mutters  Seraphia. 

"Come  into  this  supper  room  so  you  can  scream 
when  I  do  bite,"  whispers  Mirie.  "  There's  nobody 
here  yet."  So  they  enter  the  portion  of  the  Bulger 
mansion  devoted  to  the  pleasures  of  gastronomy,  for 
the  supper  room  has  not  yet  been  thrown  open  to  the 
guests.  Here  they  are  alone. 

In  a  bay  window,  even  now  occupied  by  its  little 
table  covered  with  snowy  damask,  cut  glass,  and 
ornamental  china,  and  prettily  decorated  with  flowers, 
for  it  is  the  very  one  that  Seraphia  has  selected  for 
George  to  sit  by  her  side  at  supper,  the  anxious  be- 
trothed turns  and  says:  "Mirie,  speak  quick,  you  have 
something  to  tell  me?  " 

"Yes,  but  drink  a  glass  of  champagne  first." 

"  I've  had  four  already.'' 

"Then  take  something  to  quiet  you — and  please  sit 
down." 

"But  I  can't,  I  must  see  George,"  exclaims  Seraphia. 
"It  is  about  him  you  wished  to  speak  to  me?  I  must 
see  George — he  has  gone  away  somewhere  with  that 
minx.  Ah,  here  is  Maddox!  "  For  the  door  has  just 
opened  md  tjje  faithful  valet  is  entering,  a  qhocolate 


2i6  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

ice  cream  in  his  hand.  In  a  flash  she  is  by  his  side 
imperiously  demanding:  "  Maddox,  where  is  your 
master?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  says  that  servitor  nervously. 
"He — he  told  me  to  bring  this  'ere  hice  cream  to  him 
in  the  refreshment  room." 

"Then  he  can't  be  far  off,"  says  Seraphia,  with  sud- 
den relief.  "I'll  take  charge  of  the  ice  cream.  Go 
at  once  and  find  your  master  for  me.  He  must  be 
about  if  he  gave  you  such  directions — Go !  "  for  Mad- 
dox  hesitates. 

"Beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  this  'ere  hice  cream " 

"Go!" 

And  her  manner  is  so  imperious  that  Maddox  mut- 
ters sullenly  "I  go!  "  and  leaves  on  the  word. 

"Now,"  says  Seraphia,  sitting  down  beside  Mira- 
belle,  "  I'll  eat  this  ice  cream  while  you  tell  me." 

"But  I'm  afraid!  You  will  be  so  excited!"  falters 
Mirie,  nervously, 

"No ;  ice  cream  always  calms  me,"  says  Miss  Bulger, 
though  she  puts  anxious  eyes  upon  Mirabelle  as  she 
swallows  the  first  spoonful  of  the  confection.  "I 
think  Sherry  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  his  glaces,"  she 
mutters.  "This  is  the  most  extraordinary  chocolate  I 
have  ever  eaten." 

"  It's  some  of  his  new  imported  styles,  probably," 
remarks  Mirie. 

"  But  you  were  going  to  tell  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to,"  says  the  little  imp,  playing 
her  part. 

"But  you  must.  Die  you  bring  me  here  to  make 
an  idiot  of  me  ?  "  And  Seraphia's  voice  is  very  stern. 

"Well,  then — but  I  hate  to  betray  George's  confi- 
dence," mutters  Miss  S'y-puss,  holding  her  head  down 
and  working  up  the  affair  deftly. 

"George's  confidence!      What  confidence  has  the 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  217 

man  to  whom  I  am  betrothed  from  me ;  what  confi- 
dence that  you  dare  not  tell  me  ?  "  And  Seraphia's  ex- 
citement  is  such  that  she  pegs  away  at  the  ice  cream, 
notwithstanding  it  is  undoubtedly  the  worst  that 
celebrated  caterer,  Sherry,  has  ever  put  before  the 
public.  "  Tell  me ;  don't  hesitate !  " 

"Well,  then,  poor  Seraphia  " 

"  Don't  dare  condole  with  me!  Confide  in  me  first — 
the  truth!" 

"Well,  then,  Seraphia,  George  and  Evie  intend  to 
elope  to-night." 

"George  and  Evie ! — to-night?"  gasps  the  jealous  one, 
dropping  the  last  spoonful  of  ice  cream  on  the  floor 
with  a  little  yell.  A  moment  after  she  mutters,  "I 
won't  believe  you.  My  niece  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing. 
She's  been  true  to  me  all  her  life."  And  there  are 
tears  in  her  eyes.  Next  she  mutters,  "What  hor- 
rible suspicions  you  are  putting  in  my  head,  Mirabelle. 
How  dare  you  !  I  know  your  truthless  tongue." 

"Indeed,  I  have  told  the  truth,"  whimpers  Mirie, 
for  Seraphia's  manner  is  growing  more  and  more  ex- 
cited. "  You — you  saw  how  confused  Maddox  was  when 
he  was  here  a  few  minutes  ago ;  you  saw  how  he  hesi- 
tated. He  doesn't  return;  it's  because  he  is  going 
with  the  eloping  couple.  They  are  now  on  their  way 
to  the  carriage. " 

11  What!"  This  is  a  snort  of  agony  as  Seraphia 
springs  up,  almost  knocking  the  table  over.  "You'll 
prove  it,  will  you?"  she  whispers,  "  you'll  prove  it  ?  " 

"Yes!"  whispers  Mirie,  impetuously. 

"  Then  do  so.  Do  so,  or  by  the  living  Jingo  I'll — I'll 
whale  you!  I've  done  it  to  girls  as  big  as  you  when  I 
was  a  school  ma'am  in  Michigan.  Your  only  safety, 
Mirabelle,  is  to  prove  it!" 

"And  if  I  do,"  answers  Mirie,  trembling,  for  Sera- 
phia's eyes  are  beginning  to  glow  with  a  new  and 


2i8  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

baneful  light,  "what  then?  You'll  talk  to  him  and 
he'll  persuade  you  that  I  lie,  anyway,"  and  she 
commences  to  whimper:  "You  believe  every  word  he 
says.  I'll  prove  it,  but  you  must  prove  it  to  yourself  also!" 

"  How  ?  " 

"By  taking  Evie's  place  in  the  wagon  beside 
George.  He  won't  know  you  in  the  darkness  if  you  are 
wrapped  up  well,  if  you'll  only  appear  bashful  and  mod- 
est and  diffident.  Then  when  he  gets  you  to  New 
York  he's  got  to  marry  you." 

"Yes,  he  belongs  to  me,  I  bought  him!  I'll  have 
my  pound  of  flesh !  If  he's  faithless  why  should  I  be 
honest?  I'll  play  the  trick  on  him  and  that  minx,  that 
Jezebel !  Evie — Evie  whom  I  loved !  Oh-oh ! — Ah-ah ! — 
Eh-eh! — I  lov'd!  "  And  Seraphia  sheds  tears  that  are 
.ike  unto  those  of  drunkenness.  "Evie — for  whom  I 
bought  him — who  threw  up  the  bargain — and  George — 
George  whom  I  adored  so  I  have  given  up  business 
and  put  passion  in  my  soul — to  whose  eyes  I  have 
written  poetry  and  become  the  sweet  singer  of 
Michigan : 

Bar-Sinister,  my  haughty  lord, 
Whose  soul  can  touch  thy  Cupid's  chord? 
What  blushing  maid's  so  sweet  to  thee 
As  thy  beloved  Seraphia  B.? 

Don't  dare  to  laugh  in  my  face,  you  little  minx! 
Do  your  part  of  the  work.  Save  your  own  worthless 
neck  lest  I  wring  it!"  And  Seraphia  takes  the  fair, 
white  column  that  Mirie  prizes  so  much  in  her  hands 
and  looks  into  Mirabelle's  affrighted  eyes  with  glaring 
optics. 

"Oh  heaven!  Mercy!  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Seraphia — what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  gasps  Mirie, 
trembling,  for  in  truth  Miss  Bulger  has  now  become  ter- 
rible. Though  Mirie  doesn't  guess  what  is  the  matter 
with  her. 


THE  LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  219 

But  it  is  twenty-two  and  a  quarter  grains  of  strongest 
bi-sulphite  of  quinine  that  is  working  on  her  powerful 
frame  in  a  way  that  produces  the  weird  effects  of  an 
overdose  of  cinchona  on  humanity.  First,  strange  and 
terrible  excitement  resembling  drunkenness;  next,  the 
ringing  of  bells  in  the  ears,  and  deafness  and  confusion 
and  sleep.  The  former  only  is  upon  Seraphia  now — • 
excitement. 

"Come!"  she  hisses,  as  she  stands  over  the  shrink- 
ing plotter.  "Where  are  they,  the  perjured  ones  ?" 

"  George  is  waiting  for  her  in  the  carriage,"  whispers 
Mirie,  quaking,  "and  Evie  is  upstairs  putting  on  her 
wraps  to  join  him. " 

"  AH-HA!  "  This  is  a  whoop  from  Seraphia. 

"Oh  heavens!  don't — don't  kill  them!"  falters 
Mirie,  who  now  shudders  at  the  demon  of  jealously  she 
has  conjured  up. 

Did  the  imp  know  that  Seraphia  was  medicated 
she  would  probably  die  of  fright. 

"I'll  spare  her  life,"  mutters  Seraphia,  "but  I'll 
rob  the  Jezebel  of  her  love — that's  all,  HER  LOVE  !  Come 
with  me,  minion !"  Then  she  strides  from  the  room  drag- 
ging Mirie,  and  they  go  to  a  dressing  closet  in  the  hall, 
where  Seraphia  seizes  a  long  dolman,  for  use  in  wet 
weather,  and  wraps  it  round  her  ball  dress,  muffling  up 
her  face. 

As  they  pass  into  the  darkness  of  the  grounds  Mirie, 
though  almost  half  scared  out  of  her  wits,  notes  the  aunt 
does  not  look  so  unlike  her  niece  in  the  half  light;  her 
face  is  concealed  and  her  ball  dress  is  almost  the  same. 

Guided  by  Miss  Armitage,  Seraphia  gathering  up  her 
skirts  flies  across  the  grounds,  mounts  the  little  stile 
and  jumps  into  the  road,  then  flits  through  the  carriages 
which  are  awaiting  the  guests  at  the  fete,  and  enters 
the  little  shaded  driveway  that  opens  into  Ocean 
Avenue  almost  opposite  the  villa. 


22O  THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Here  she  suddenly  pauses  and  mutters,  "Ting! — 
Ting! — Don't  you  hear  them  ?  " 

"What?"  gasps  Mirie. 

"My  wedding  bells!"  whispers  Seraphia — "Ting — 
Ting — TING!  On  to  the  nuptials!  "  And  she  drags  the 
girl  forward,  and  in  fifty  yards  comes  to  a  vehicle 
drawn  up  in  the  shade,  the  driver  of  which  looks  eagerly 
at  them. 

"  This  is  the  carriage,  Evie,"  whispers  Mirabelle,  with 
an  emphasis  on  the  name.  Seraphia  answers  with  a 
grip  of  the  hand  that  nearly  makes  the  Armitage  infant 
squeal. 

Maddox  is  standing  beside  the  carriage.  "Is  your 
master  inside,"  asks  Mirie. 

"Yes,"  mutters  the  valet.  "Would  you  please  step 
inside,  Miss  Hevelyn  ?  " 

With  a  little  squeal,  half  of  horror  at  discovering  it  is 
true,  half  of  joy  because  she  has  defeated  her  conspir- 
ing niece,  Seraphia  skips  into  the  carriage  with  a  vigor 
that  astounds  Mirie — the  vigor  of  twenty-two  and  a 
quarter  grains  of  quinine. 

In  a  flash  the  door  is  closed,  the  blinds  drawn  down, 
Maddox  springs  up  beside  the  driver  and  says, 
"Westerly,  and  fifty  dollars  if  you  make  it  in  two 
hours!" 

Slash  goes  the  whip  and  the  carriage  flies  into  the 
road  en  route  for  the  nearest  railway  station  at  which 
the  midnight  express  stops. 

Turning  from  this  scene  in  a  somewhat  perturbed 
and  wondering  state  of  mind,  Miss  Armitage  finds  her- 
self just  as  she  enters  the  grounds  of  the  villa  con- 
fronted by  George. 

"  I  say,  has  she  gone?"  he  asks  eagerly. 

"Yes." 

"  Thank  God !     And  little  Levison  ?  " 

"He's  in  the  carriage  with  her." 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  221 

"  A  thousand  blessings  on  you!  Then  I'll  order  up 
the  other  carriage,  Jimmy  will  drive,"  he  says  deter- 
minedly;— then  falters.  "  But  heaven  help  me,  I'm — 
I'm  down  in  the  mouth.  I've  been  looking  for  a 
chocolate  ice  cream  that  beast  Maddox  was  to  leave 
for  me  in  the  refreshment  room." 

"You — you  won't  get  it,"  giggles  Mirie  hysterically, 
for  Miss  Sly-boots  has  nearly  been  frightened  out  of 
her  life  by  Seraphia's  frenzy. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

" Seraphia  has  eaten  it." 

"Then,  by  Jove!  she's  taken  my  twenty- two  and  a 
quarter  grains  of  quinine  with  her.  Good  heavens, 
she's  cinchonized ! " 

"  Cinchonized  ?    What's  that  ?  " 

"Quininized,  you'd  call  it,"  laughs  Bar-Sinister. 

"Quininized  !"  gasps  Mirie.  "That's  the  reason 
she  went  crazy  and  scared  the  life  out  of  me !  Quinin- 
ized !  "  and  the  minx  laughs  till  there  are  tears  in  her 
sparkling  eyes.  A  moment  after  she  murmurs,  "You 
— you  must  go  in  pursuit  of  her!  " 

"  That's  what  I'm  going  to  do,  but  I'm  not  going  to 
catch  her  until  I  get  to  New  York.  Maddox  can  do 
more  for  her  quininized  than  any  doctor  upon  earth. 
He  knows  all  about  cinchona  symptoms.  He's  had 
some  fiendish  experiences  with  me,  I  can  tell  yer,"  says 
George,  laughing.  "Now,  then,  to  explain  to  Evie." 

And  coming  up  to  the  Bulger's  villa,  from  which 
Lander's  music  is  still  floating  merrily,  they  enter  the 
house  to  find,  fortunately,  the  guests  devoting  them- 
selves to  supper  so  strenuously  that  nobody's  absence 
has  been  noticed. 

"  This  is  luck,"  remarks  the  Englishman.  "  It's/^// 
de  foie  gras  and  champagne  and  truffled  turkey  that 
crowd  is  after,  not  scandal." 

Almost  at  the  door  of  the  mansion  they  meet  Evelyn. 


222  THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT. 

She  says  anxiously:  "  Mirie,  what  have  you  done  with 
Seraphia  ?  " 

* '  Come  in  here,  we'll  tell  you. "  And  getting  her  awaj 
by  herself  the  two  explain  the  matter  to  her,  though  the) 
don't  dare  to  tell  her  that  Seraphia  has  gone  away 
quininized;  for  the  girl  breaks  out  at  them  indignantly: 

"  Why  did  you  do  this  thing  ?  " 

"Because  I  loved  you,"  whispers  George.  "Your 
aunt  is  all  right.  Keep  quiet;  avoid  scandal.  Maddox 
is  with  her ;  everything  is  as  straight  as  a  trivet.  Your 
aunt  will  be  married,  but  not  to  me" 

"Oh,  this  is  atrocious,"  mutters  Evie  "Mirie, 
it  was  infamous  in  you." 

"  There !"  pouts  Miss  Armitage.  "You  asked  me 
to  help  you,  and  now  I've  done  it,  you  turn  upon  me, 
you,  who  will  some  day  be — never  mind  what.  Evie, 
you  are  a  monster  of  ingratitude !  " 

And  she  runs  upstairs  to  rearrange  her  toilet,  which 
has  suffered  somewhat  from  Seraphia's  grip,  and  chats 
cheerily  to  the  sleepy,  chocolate-colored  caniche,  mur- 
muring to  him,  "Wait  until  I'm  her  mother,  Abelard, 
then  Evie  will  be  sorry  she  has  been  so  undutiful  a 
child!" 

As  for  George  he  bolts  to  his  room,  takes  a  twenty- 
two  and  a  quarter  grain  quinine  powder  and  gets  in- 
spiration from  it.  Putting  a  couple  more  in  his  pocket, 
he  comes  downstairs  to  find  his  adored  anxiously  wait- 
ing for  him. 

"No  one  guesses  yet,"  she  whispers,  as  they  pass 
out  into  the  grounds  together  where  they  can  be  more 
alone.  "  Our  guests  are  all  still  at  supper,  but  papa — 
he  must  know." 

"Not  a  word  to  him,"  interjects  Bar-Sinister,  "or 
he  may  kill  poor  little  Levie.  Keep  your  father  in  the 
dark  until  my  telegram." 

"Your  telegram?  From  where?  " 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  723 

"Fro;i  New  York.  Maddox  has  directions  to  let 
me  know  at  the  Waldorf  exactly  where  they  are  in  New 
York.  You  play  the  hostess  here.  Tell  your  guests 
Seraphia  is  over-fatigued,  and  then  naturally,  my — 
my  sweetheart  having  retired,"  he  winces  at  the  word, 
"  I  have  gone  to  my  room  for  a  pipe.  But  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  my  room  for  a  pipe,  I'm  going  to  compel  the 
marriage.  And  when  I  come  back,  pray  God  I  will 
be  able  to  say  to  your  governor,  '  Old  boy,  we've  loved 
each  other  ever  since  we  met  in  Florida,  six  months 
ago ' — haven't  we,  Evie? " 

"Oh,  George!"  murmurs  the  girl.  Then  she  sud- 
denly utters  an  agitated  exclamation,  blushes,  flutters, 
turns  her  head  away  and  droops  her  glorious  eyes, 
for  George,  who  is  now  quininized,  and  very  active  and 
smart,  has  forgotten  he  has  not  returned  from  New 
York,  and  Evie  has  received  his  first  kiss  of  love — no, 
the  blackberry  kiss  was  the  first. 

"Run  into  the  house,  keep  the  ball  rolling,  dance 
until  morning,"  he  adds,  and  going  from  her  finds 
Jimmy  with  two  fine  horses  in  a  light  wagon.  His 
valise  is  already  in  it. 

He  whispers  to  the  little  tiger:  "Get  me  to  Westerly 
in  time  to  catch  the  2  137  express  for  New  York  and  it 
is  five  pounds  in  your  pocket." 

"How  much  is  them  in  dollars  and  cents?"  asks 
Jimmy. 

"Twenty-five." 

Smack!  Slash!  goes  the  whip!  Jimmy  doesn't  waste 
any  time  discussing  the  matter,  and  the  carriage  flies 
in  pursuit  of  the  other  one,  which  George  calculates  will 
catch  the  train  just  ahead  of  them,  the  one  passing 
Westerly  at  2:21. 

Some  two  hours  afterward  at  that  railroad  station  Bar- 
Sinister  learn.s  that  a  carriage  has  driven  uy»  and  a  lady 
and  gentleman,  assisted  by  a  valet,  hve  entered  the 


244  TttE    LADIES*   JUGGERNAUT. 

2:21  train  and  are  now  en  route  for  New  York,  about 
fifteen  minutes  ahead  of  him. 

"Jimmy, "he  whispers,  "drive  back  and  tell  your 
young  mistress  that  it's  all  right — by  Quinine,  it's  all 
right!  "  and  boards  the  2 137  express  which  comes  dash- 
ing in. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  he  arrives  in  New  York  and 
fifteen  minutes  afterward  is  at  the  Waldorf.  Here, 
receiving  a  telegram  that  has  been  sent  him  by  Mad- 
dox,  he  mutters :  "At  Bulger's  town  house, "  and  orders 
a  cab  to  be  called. 

As  he  is  leaving  the  office  the  clerk  remarks  to  him : 
"There's  a  cablegram  just  come  for  Mr.  Raphael 
Levison.  We  don't  know  his  address,  but  he  was  here 
inquiring  about  you  several  times  immediately  after 
your  arrival,  my  lord,  on  the  Teutonic.  Do  you  know 
where  he  is?" 

"Yes,  I'll  see  him  in  about  ten  minutes,"  replies  Bar- 
Sinister,  pocketing  the  dispatch. 

He  is  just  stepping  into  the  hack  when  a  young  man 
walks  up  and  remarks:  "I  saw  the  telegram  addressed 
to  you  that  came  in  early  this  morning,  my  lord,  and 
have  called  to  know  if  you  have  any  further  communi- 
cation to  make  about  your  approaching  marriage  ? " 

"Oh,  ya-as,  ya-as,  I  remember  you,  you  are  the 
reporter  on  the  Jacksonville  Statesman,  I  believe.  Saw 
you  in  Florida,  don't  yer  know,"  returns  Bar-Sinister. 

"Just  at  present  I  represent  the  New  York  Earth" 
answers  Mr.  Roberts. 

"Quite  right!  Call  on  me  at  Mr.  Bulger's  town 
house,  479^-  Fifth  Avenue,"  remarks  George,  consulting 
Maddox's  message.  "About  two  hours  from  now 
perhaps  I  shall  have  something  of  interest. " 

With  this  he  gets  into  the  cab  and  drives  rapidly  to 
the  Bulger  mansion,  murmuring  to  himself  sotto  voce: 
"Am  I  quininized  up  to  proof  for  this  affair,  it's  so 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  225 

vital  ?"     Then  he  feels  his  pulse  and  laughs  to  himself: 
"Yes    I'm  medicated  for  a  n.<rlit  to  a  finish  ' 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   CONTESSA   DI   TESSE    FERRARA. 

THE  carriage  in  which  Seraphia  and  Levison  are 
seated  leaves  Narragai:  sett  Pier  behind  it  and  dashes 
along  the  road  toward  .Vesterly. 

On  the  box  beside  ti.'e  driver  is  Maddox,  chatting 
to  the  man  about  the  time  he's  making,  and  throw- 
ing out  hints  as  to  the  fifty  dollars  that  he's  going 
to  get  if  he  drives  them  to  Westerly  in  two  hours.  This 
fifty  dollar  bill  rests  on  i*ie  driver's  mind  so  much  that 
he  talks  of  nothing  else,  but  all  the  time  Maddox  has 
one  ear  open  for  what  takes  place  in  the  carriage. 

He  expects  moment  by  moment  some  sudden  ear- 
piercing  shriek  of  recognition  from  Seraphia  when  she 
discovers  little  Levison  not  Viscount  Bar-Sinister  is  by 
her  side  on  this  Gretna-Green  journey.  He  is  listening 
for  the  muttered  execrations  of  Levison  when  he 
realizes  that  beside  him  sits  not  the  exquisitely  beauti- 
ful Evelyn  tfulger,  but  the  masculine  and  mature 
Seraphia  B  i  ger. 

But  cur.cusly  enough  none  of  these  sounds  reach 
Maddox's  listening  ears.  As  tLey  arrive  at  Westerly 
he  think  i  to  himself :  "  This  'eie'shextraordinary,  not  a 
bloomi'ig  sound  have  1  'card  fr  )in  either  of  them  in  the 
two  he  irs." 

Whkii  is  true.  Seraphia,  quininized,  has  such  curi- 
ous fee/'nsjs,  such  jumping  nerves,  such  tingling  chimes 
of  bells  ;r>  her  ears  that  her  nervous  agitation  keeps 
her  froi/  jeing  communicative.  The  night  is  dark,  but 


226  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

she  knows  George  in  his  familiar  mackintosh  and  derby 
sits  beside  her.  That  is  enough,  she  is  happy.  Every 
ting!  in  her  ears  seems  to  be  her  wedding  bells.  She 
will  not  disturb  him.  The  further  she  gets  from  Narra- 
gansett  Pier  in  his  company  the  more  certain  she  is 
of  him.  When  she  arrives  in  New  York  it  must  be  a 
minister,  and  a  quick  minister  at  that,  to  take  from 
her  at  once,  and  forever,  all  further  worry  at  the 
attractions  of  her  lovely  niece.  Therefore  Seraphia 
holds  her  tongue. 

As  for  Levison,  he  shrewdly  reflects  that  the  further 
he  gets  the  beautiful  Evelyn  from  home  without  dis- 
covery the  more  certain  he  is  of  success.  He  has  a 
shrewd  idea  that  perchance — here  his  little  heart  gives 
a  mighty  throb — perchance  to  hush  up  scandal,  he  may 
win  this  beauty  by  his  side.  For  he  has  no  doubt  of 
the  identity  of  the  lady  sitting  beside  him.  He  has 
already  heard  her  called  by  Maddox,  Miss  Evelyn. 
Though  cloaked,  she  is  in  the  young  lady's  ball  dress, 
he  is  sure  of  that.  Why  she  does  not  speak  to  him  he 
wonders,  but  finally  imagines  her  silence  is  due  to  the 
embarrassed  modesty  of  a  girl  making  her  first  elope- 
ment. "So  help  me,"  he  thinks  to  himself,  "Miss 
Evie  has  never  played  this  game  before,  no  wonder 
she's  a  little  diffident.  If  she  spoke  to  me  I  should 
have  to  answer  her.  My  voice  would  let  the  cat  out 
of  the  bag,  and  it's  a  cat  that  will  jump  very  high  when 
it  does  get  out  of  the  bag.  Better  keep  it  in  for  the 
present." 

He  therefore  says  nothing,  but  simply  slips  his  arm 
round  the  waist  beside  him  and  gives  it  an  affectionate 
squeeze.  Then  Seraphia  cuddles  to  him  beautifully, 
thinking  it  is  George's  arm. 

So  they  come  into  Westerly,  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  2.21  train  for  New  York.  Levison  springs  lightly 
put  before  his  companion,  takes  Maddox  to  one  side, 


THE   LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT  227 

and  mutters:  "Not  a  word  to  her.  It's  a  hundred 
dollars  to  you  if  you  keep  us  apart  on  the  train,"  and 
skips  agilely  into  the  smoking  car. 

"All  right,  my  lord,"  says  Maddox,  touching  his 
hat. 

"Which  way  has  Bar-Sinister  gone?"  falters  Sera- 
phia,  from  the  carriage. 

"  Into  the  smoking  car ! " 

"What  did  you  say — car?" 

"The  smoking  car!"  yells  Maddox.  "He  thinks 
it's  more  delicate  under  the  circumstances  that  he 
should  be  separated  from  you, "  adds  the  wily  valet. 

"He  must  not  see  me,  do  you  understand?  He 
must  not  see  me.  It's  a  five  hundred  dollar  bill,  Mad- 
dox, if  his  lordship  doesn't  see  the  woman  who  loves 
him  on  this  train.  Ting ! — ting! — TING  !  How  my  head 
rings  ! " 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  ma'am?"  asks  the 
valet,  who  now  notices  her  excited  appearance.  "  What 
makes  you  so  'ard  of  'earing  ?  "  For  he  has  been  com- 
pelled to  yell  several  things  into  her  ear. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — ting! — ting! — TING!  It's  my 
wedding  bells!  Maddox,  you  hear  me, — my  wedding 
bells,  for  you  know  I  love  him — my  wedding  bells — 
ting ! — ting  ! — TING  !" 

"How  long  have  you  had  them  wedding  bells, 
ma'am  ?  "  asks  the  servitor,  anxiously. 

"  Almost  since  I  ate  that  ice  cream  you  left  with  me 
to  give  your  master." 

This  revelation  has  an  awful  effect  upon  the  valet. 
He  thinks  wildly  to  himself :  "Quininized,  by  Jove!" 

But  knowing  these  symptoms  very  well  and  how  to 
alleviate  them,  having  had  several  peculiar  experiences 
with  his  master,  Maddox  hastily  assists  Seraphia  into 
a  railway  carriage  at  some  distance  from  the  smoker, 
produces  a  little  bromide  and  prepares  to  give  her  a 
quiet  sleep  until  she  reaches  New  York. 


THE  LADIES    JUGGERNAUT. 

"  You'll  telegraph  forme,  Maddox,  at  New  London," 
yells  Seraphia. 

"  'Ush !    Don't  talk  so  loud !  "  mutters  the  valet, 

"I'm  not  talking  loud — I  can't  hear  myself!  "  bawls 
the  lady.  "Telegraph  to  the  Reverend  Augustus 
Sloate,  number  57  Madison  Avenue.  He's  to  marry 
us  on  our  arrival  in  New  York.  Telegraph  him  from 
New  London  to  meet  us  at  the  Holland  House — no, 
telegraph  him  to  meet  us  at  number  479^  Fifth 
Avenue." 

"The  minister!  "  chuckles  Maddox  to  himself  as  he 
administers  the  bromide.  "She's  a  rusher.  Wonder  if 
she'll  want  the  minister  when  she  sees  who  she's  going 
to  nail  ? " 

Soon,  Seraphia  having  gone  into  a  confused  slumber, 
Maddox  steps  to  the  smoking  car  and  says  craftily  to 
Mr.  Levison,  who  is  now  puffing  a  cigar  in  a  nervous 
manner:  "  I  think  you  ought  to  raise  that  hundred 
you  promised  me,  sir.  I  have  a  hawful  time  keeping 
her  from  demanding  to  see  you.  I  have  told  her  that 
it's  your  delicate  courtesy  to  a  lady  as  has  permitted  her- 
self to  fall  into  an  hembarrassing  situation  with  you, 
sir.  But  she  says  she  wants  the  man  of  her  'eart  by 
her  side." 

"  I'll  give  you  two  hundred,"  whispers  the  financier; 
"but  for  God's  sake  tell  her  that  I  am  so  much  of  a 
man  of  honor  that  I  wouldn't  go  near  her  to-night  for 
a  hundred  thousand  pounds  in  Bank  of  England  bills. 
Tell  her,  so  help  me,  that  noblesse  oblige  is  the  motto  of 
the  Bar-Sinisters. " 

"By  touts  and  welchers,"  mutters  Maddox,  return- 
ing from  this  interview  with  some  of  Levison's  cash  in 
his  pocket,  "when  such  as  him  gets  to  shouting 
iivblcsse  oblige,  the  haristocracy  will  soon  want  a  new 
war  cry. " 

But  he  has  no  further  trouble  on  the  train.     He  tel- 


THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT.  229 

egraphs  Miss  Bulger's  message  to  the  minister  in  New 
York  from  New  London,  and  sends  at  the  same  time  a 
message  for  Lord  Bar-Sinister,  addressed  to  the  Wal- 
dorf. 

By  remarkable  coincidence,  little  Levison  dispatches 
a  long  cablegram  to  Rome  from  New  London  also. 
"It's  very  important,  get  it  along  at  once,"  mutters 
the  bill-broker  to  the  telegraph  clerk. 

So  at  a  little  after  half  past  six  in  the  morning  of 
a  fine  stewing  August  day  the  train  rattles  into  the 
Grand  Central  depot  in  New  York  City.  In  the  smoking 
car  Maddox  holds  consultation  with  Levison. 

"I'd  better  put  her  into  the  carriage  first,"  he  sug- 
gests. "She  might  be  frightened  on  seeing  you; 
she's  got  a  curious  hidea  that  it's  my  lud  as  is 
with  her.  Let  me  get  her  settled  in  the  'ack,  then 
you  can  join  her." 

"Quite  right,"  whispers  Levison,  slipping  an  extra 
five  dollar  bill  into  Maddox's  hand. 

So,  a  convenient  Jehu  being  summoned,  his  carriage 
is  drawn  up  beside  the  station,  and  while  Mr.  Levi- 
son keeps  himself  out  of  sight  Maddox  conducts  Ser- 
aphia  to  the  cab  and  helps  her  in. 

Then  she,  covered  with  maiden  blushes,  murmurs 
into  the  valet's  ear:  "You — you  can  bring  George 
to  me  now." 

Maddox  looks  perturbed ;  he  hardly  knows  what  they 
will  do  to  each  other  when  they  meet.  But  there  is 
nothing  else  for  him,  and  he  falters:  "This  way, 
my — my  lud!  " 

At  the  word,  the  financier  skipping  down  the  steps  of 
the  station  springs  into  the  carriage,  saying:  "  My  dear 

Miss  Evie "  Then  he  pauses,  his  eyes  roll,  he 

glares  at  Seraphia  dumfounded. 

"Why,  Mr.  Levison!  did  you  come  on  the  train  with 
George  and  me? "  ejaculates  the  lady.  But  just  here 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

the  extraordinary  appearance  of  the  bill-broker  strikes 
her.  She  sees  upon  him  Bar-Sinister's  mackintosh  and 
derby,  and  stammers:  "Oh,  my  soul!  eloped  with 
you  !  " 

"Yes,  so  help  me!  we've  both  been  put  upon  by  that 
lying  imp  of  Beelzebub,  Mirabelle  Armitage,"  screams 
little  Levison. 

But  this  horrible  revelation,  coupled  with  her  im- 
promptu medication  of  the  night  before,  is  too  much 
for  old  Seraphia.     She  gives  a  broken-hearted,  gurg- 
ling gasp,  "  George — my  heaven,  what  will  he  think!" 
and  falls  fainting  into  Levison's  arms. 

Closing  the  door,  Maddox  jumps  beside  the  driver 
and  says:  "Now,  cabby,  for  your  life,  479^  Fifth 
Avenue  like  blazes.  Lady's  sick  inside!  " 

And  away  they  rattle  up  Forty-second  Street  and 
a^ong  Fifth  Avenue  to  the  Bulger  mansion,  which  for- 
tunately is  not  far  off,  Mr.  Maddox  sitting  beside  the 
driver  on  the  box,  looking  very  much  concerned.  Be- 
hind him  in  the  interior  of  the  vehicle  Miss  Seraphia 
Bulger  in  a  comatose  condition,  and  little  Raphael 
Levison  holding  her  hands  and  muttering  in  a  dazed 
way:  "  So  help  me,  by  the  living  Jingo  it  was  a  plant 
of  that  infernal  Bar-Sinister  and  that  little  Judas  Iscar- 
iot,  Mirabelle  Armitage,  to  put  the  old  woman  off  on 
me." 

He  has  furtive  thoughts  of  jumping  from  the  car- 
riage and  fleeing;  but  before  he  can  make  up  his 
mind  to  action  they  arrive  in  front  of  the  Bulger  man- 
sion, which  is  kept  open  for  the  summer  by  a  couple  of 
women  servants  who  have  been  left  in  town. 

Maddox  jumps  down  and  opens  the  door  of  the  car- 
riage, and  together  the  two  assist  Seraphia  into  the 
house.  One  of  the  maids,  who  has  answered  the 
door  bell  and  who  seems  astonished,  immediately 
assists  Seraphia  into  the  dining-room,  and  there  they 
bring  her  to.  ^ 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  231 

But  this  is  a  rather  slow  matter,  and  Levison, 
who  is  a  good-hearted  little  chap  in  his  way,  stands  by 
waiting  until  this  is  over.  But  even  while  engaged  in 
this,  the  front  door  bell  is  heard  to  ring,  and  the 
servant  answering  this  comes  in  and  says,  in  a  startled 
voice:  "The  Reverend  Augustus  Sloate  is  in  the 
parlor.  He  has  called  here  to  perform  the  wedding 
ceremony." 

At  this  the  partially  revived  Seraphia  gives  an  awful 
scream  of  despair,  and  the  shock  fully  restores  her 
senses,  that  have  been  coming  gradually  to  her. 

She  mutters:  "The  minister  who  was  to  wed  me  to 
my — "  and  with  this  becomes  the  Seraphia  Bulger  of 
old.  Fire  gleams  in  her  eye.  She  commands:  "Leave 
us  together,  all  of  you,"  and  places  her  hand 
on  little  Levison's  shoulder,  who  looks  at  her  warily 
yet  agitatedly.  The  expression  on  her  face  makes 
even  Maddox  obey  her;  he  slinks  out  of  the  dining- 
room  with  the  two  maid  servants. 

Then  turning  glaring  eyes  upon  little  Levison  she 
exclaims:  "You  villain,  who  played  this  abominable 
trick  upon  me! " 

" But  it  wasn't  my  trick.  So  help  me  bob!  It  was 
that  little  imp  of  Satan,  Mirabelle  Armitage." 

"Yes,  with  you  as  her  accomplice;  or  why  were  you 
in  that  carriage  awaiting  me?  Why  were  you  disguised 
in  the  garments  of  Bar-Sinister?  Why  did  you  keep 
away  from  me  on  the  train?  Answer!" 

"Well,  you  see,"  falters  little  Levie. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  scream."-  Seraphia;  "you  wanted  me 
for  my  money,  you  Lovelace !  But  you'll  not  get  it; 
and  I'll  make  you  suffer  for  it;  I'll — I'll  sue  you  for 
abduction." 

" Can't  yer  see  it  was  a  mistake?"  snarls  the  un- 
happy bill-broker.  "Do  yer  think  I  would  have 
squeezed  yer  waist  so  tight  for  two  hours  if  I  hadn't 
believed  it  was  your  beautiful  niece?" 


232  THE    LADIES"    JUGGERNAUT.  f 

4< Squeezed  my  waist!  Oh,  good  heaven!  Oh  you 
shameless  Lothario!  I  can't  look  you  in  the  face. 
What  shall  I  do?  What  will  George  think  of  me? 
Out  of  my  sight!" 

"But  can't  this  here  matter  be  patched  up?"  sug- 
gests Levison,  uneasily. 

"  Out  of  my  sight — out  of  my  house! " 

''Bar-Sinister  won't  mind,"  falters  the  abductor, 
as  he  agitatedly  opens  the  door. 

"  But,  by  Jove,  Bar-Sinister  does  mind!  He  is  here 
to  make  you  do  justice  to  an  injured  woman!"  And 
with  these  words  George  strides  in,  forcing  little  Levi- 
son back  into  the  room.  His  eyeglass  only  adds  to  a 
fearful,  melodramatic  scowl  that  is  upon  the  young 
nobleman's  face. 

"Oh,  George!  you  have  come  to — to  marry  me! 
The  minister  is  in  the  parlor."  And  Seraphia  would 
falter  to  Bar-Sinister  to  faint  in  his  arms. 

But  he  says  sternly  to  her:  "Faint  in  fa's  f"  and 
points  to  Levison,  who  stands  with  a  frightened  grin  on 
his  face. 

Then  Seraphia  doesn't  faint  in  anyone's  arms!  She 
stands  between  them  and  turns  her  eyes  from  one  to 
the  other;  and  there  is  something  in  them  that  makes 
George  know,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  that  if 
she  doesn't  marry  Levison,  she  will  marry  him. 

But  he  is  bright  and  quininized  this  morning;  he  has 
received  Maddox's  message  from  New  London,  at  the 
Waldorf,  and  has  come  straight  up  and  so  is  just  on 
time.  His  valet,  who  has  opened  the  door  to  him,  has 
told  him  the  situation,  and  he  prepares  to  act,  though 
with  a  shudder  as  he  sees  Seraphia's  glance,  imploring^ 
beseeching — loving! 

Twice  she  tries  to  catch  his  hand,  but  thinking  of 
the  minister  in  the  next  room,  he  defeats  this  by  keeping 
his  arms  gloomily  folded.  "I  am  here  as  your 
brother  I "  be  mutters  awroscly. 


THE    LADIES     JUGGERNAUT.  233 

"Oh  George,"  moans  Seraphia. 

"  I  have  followed  you,"  he  continues,  "  to  force  the 
man  who  has  deceived  you  to  make  the  only  reparation  in 
his  power — marriage !  I  am  here  as  a  representative  of 
the  Bulger  family,  Mr.  Levison,  and  shall  fulfill  my  com- 
mission to  the  extent  of  shooting  you  if  you  do  not 
wed  your  victim  instantly!  American  juries  look  very 
lightly  upon  violence,  if  done  to  protect  the  honor  of 
American  womanhood." 

"Yer — yer  don't  mean  it!"  gasps  the  little  bill- 
broker. 

But  here  Seraphia  almost  brings  despair  on  George, 
by  saying  sharply:  "I  won't  have  the  wretch!  " 

"But  you  must!"  commands  Bar-Sinister.  "It  is 
your  one  chance  to  retain  the  respect  of  the  world." 

"You — you  don't  believe  in  my  innocence  ?"  she 
sobs. 

"I  do,  but  the  world  won't.  As  your  best  friend, 
as  the  man  who  was  engaged  to  you — yesterday!"  there 
is  a  tremble  in  Bar-Sinister's  voice  as  he  says  this. 

"  Oh  George!  George!  "  and  Seraphia  would  go  to 
his  arms. 

But  he  says  sternly:  "Yesterday!  Not  to-day! — 
because  you  have  given  your  heart  to  another.  Else 
why  should  you  have  fled  with  this  man  ?  Why  did 
you  disappear  from  the  ballroom  in  the  middle  of  the 
fete  to  enter  the  carriage  with  him  and  be  driven  away 
— you  must  have  planned  it  before." 

"Oh,  that  little  fiend  girl,  Mirie!  If  I  had  her 
here!"  screams  Seraphia — "Oh,  how  the  world  will 
laugh  at  me ! " 

"No,"  answers  Bar-Sinister,  suddenly.  "The 
world  will  laugh  at  me.  I  am  the  jilted  one,  don't  yer 
know.  You  have  fled  from  me,  not  I  from  you."  By 
a  great  effort  he  gets  a  little  pathos  in  his  voice  as  he 
says  this.  "  The  papers  will  say  that  you  were  over- 


234  THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT. 

come  by  gratitude  for  this  man  who  has  savetr  your 
life;  that  at  the  last  moment  you  couldn't  sacrifice 
yourself,  and  fled  with  him.  That's  about  the  manner 
the  papers  will  put  it.  I'll  see  that  they  put  it  about 
that  way.  The  derision  shall  be  all  for  me.  The 
blarsted  press  will  jolly  me  up  mightily  over  the  jilting 
you've  given  me,  Seraphia,  don't  yer  see  ?  "  Then  his 
voice  grows  stern  again  as  he  adds:  "But  I  have 
promised  that  the  family  honor  shall  be  protected  from 
this  seducer!" 

At  this  Seraphia  affrights  both  the  men.  Her  eyes 
blaze,  though  her  lips  are  pale.  She  mutters:  "Call 
him  that  awful  name  again,  George,  and  I  shall  kill  him 
myself  ! " 

Her  looks  are  such  that  Levison  quails  and  would 
make  for  the  door  did  not  George  block  his  passage. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  "mutters  Bar-Sinister,  "but  that  is 
what  the  world  will  call  him,  if  you  kill  this  man  your- 
self, or  if  you  let  him  run  away,  or  if  you  do  anything 
but  marry  him.  Your  brother " 

To  this  Seraphia  utters  a  faint  cry,  "Abner!  My 
God!  what  will  he  think  of  me!"  puts  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief,  hangs  her  head  and  sinks  down  on  a 
near-by  sofa,  convulsed  with  sobs  and  confusion. 

Her  shame  would  arouse  conscience  in  George  did 
not  the  minister  in  the  next  room  make  him  careless  of 
everything  but  his  own  release.  "  One  word,  Levie," 
he  whispers  to  the  bill-broker,,  and  leads  him  aside. 
"I've  a  better  argument  for  you  than  cold  lead — cold 
gold!  The  lady  you  are  about  to  marry  is  worth " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  she's  worth  to  the  dollar,"  cuts 
in  Levison,  who  has  apparently  been  figuring  up  this  mat- 
ter in  his  mind. 

"Yes,  and  she'll  make  an  excellent  helpmeet  for  you, 
and  she'll  love  you  after  marriage.  What  Seraphia 


THE    LADIES'    JUGGERNAUT.  235 

wants  is  to  be  married;  that's  the  important  thing  with 
her,  and  you  are  the  man  to  do  it." 

"But  she  threatens  to  kill  me,"  mutters  the  finan- 
cier, sulkily. 

"Well,  let  that  come  after  marriage,"  laughs  Bar- 
Sinister,  cheerily.  "You'll  get  along  beautifully 
together." 

"If  I  promise,"  pleads  little  Levie  "will  you  pay 
those  bills  of  yours  after  you  are  wedded  to  the  beauti- 
ful Evelyn?" 

' '  Pay  my  bills  with — with  her  fortune  ? "  stammers  Bar- 
Sinister.  Then  he  breaks  out  :  "I'll — I'll  pay,  if  I  can, 
with  what  money  I  can  make  myself  as  a  business  man. 
My  wife  keeps  her  own.  But  you — you  little  cent  per 
cent  abomination,  take  what's  in  front  of  you — take 
this  lady  with  her  fortune,  which  is  bigger  than  you'll 
get  in  any  other  way!  If  you  don't " 

And  George's  glance  is  so  stern  that  the  financier 
gasps:  "  I — I  promise!  So  help  me  bob,  I  promise!" 

Then  Bar-Sinister  steps  to  Seraphia  and  whispers: 
"  I  congratulate  Mr.  Levison ;  he  is  ready  to  go  through 
the  ceremony." 

"  But  his  name — his  horrid  name,"  moans  the  lady, 
from  the  sofa. 

But  here  Raphael  takes  George  suddenly  aside,  and 
whispers  to  him:  "Perhaps  I  can  fix  the  name  for  her. 
I  sent  a  cable  to  Rome.  I  thought  it  would  please  the 
other  one,  you  know,  the  beautiful  Miss  Evelyn,  who 
I  imagined " 

But  Bar-Sinister's  eyes  have  too  horrible  an  expres- 
sion in  them  for  Levison  to  go  further.  He  mutters :  "  I 
cabled  over  that  I  would  buy  an  estate  I  have  had  my 
eye  upon  in  Tuscany.  It  carries  a  title  with  it." 

"Is  this  the  answer? "asks  George.  "They  gave 
the  dispatch  to  me  at  the  Waldorf.  They  asked  if  I 
knew  you;  they  said  you  had  inquired  about  me  the 
day  I  was  in  New  YorW 


236  tHE    LADIES*    JUGGERNAUT. 

He  passes  the  missive  to  Levison,  who,  opening  it, 
cries:  "Ye've  hit  it!  I'm  a  count!" 

As  Bar-Sinister  reads  the  cablegram  he  utters  a  little 
laugh,  and  walking  to  Seraphia  again,  remarks:  "You 
object  to  Mr.  Levison's  name,  what  would  you  say  to 
being  the  Contessa  di  Tesse  Ferrara?  " 

"Tesse  Ferrara?  What  do  you  mean?"  cries  Sera- 
phia, rising  with  astonishment. 

"The  gentleman  you  are  about  to  marry  has  just 
come  into  his  family  estate,  he  tells  me,"  laughs 
George,  "and  has  become  the  Count  di  Tesse  Ferrara." 

"The  Count  di  Tesse  Ferrara!"  murmurs  Seraphia. 
Then  she  looks  at  the  little  financier,  who  is  bowing 
before  her,  blushes,  and  murmurs  falteringly — yea, 
almost  romantically :  ' '  Raphael ! " 

And  George  knows  the  matter  is  settled. 

' '  The  wedding  must  take  place  at  once, "  he  remarks ; 
then  suddenly  suggests:  "Miss  Bulger,  you  had  better 
have  your  money  settled  on  yourself.  The  ceremony 
must  be  postponed  for  an  hour  or  two  for  that." 

"No  need,"  says  Seraphia,  "I  know  American  law 
well  enough  to  know  that  everything  I  have  remains 
mine  in  this  country.  Let  the  minister  go  to  work." 

At  this  little  Levison,  who  is  now  really  the  Count  di 
Tesse  Ferrara,  for  he  has  purchased  a  small  Tuscan 
estate  that  carries  a  title  with  it,  says  sulkily,  as  if  by 
no  means  pleased  with  American  law,  "Yes,  let's  get 
it  over!  " 

So  Seraphia  enters  the  parlor  upon  her  new  fiancees 
arm,  George  following  after  them  as  if  he  were  afraid 
they  would  slip  away  from  him  at  the  very  last. 

Here  the  Reverend  Augustus  Sloate  gives  them  his 
greeting,  and  is  introduced  by  Seraphia  to  both  the 
gentlemen. 

"I  received  your  telegram  this  morning,  Miss  Bul- 
ger," says  the  divine.  "  I  presume  this  happy  affair  is 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  237 

with  the  knowledge  of  your  brother  ?  Though,  of 
course,  that  is  unnecessary. " 

''It  is  with  her  brother's  consent,"  replies  George, 
stepping  forward,  anxious  to  aid  the  good  work  along. 

But  here  the  minister  horrifies  him.  He  says . 
*'  Certainly.  Please  stand  in  front  of  me,  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister.  Now,  Miss  Seraphia !  " 

"Oh,  you're  making  the  same  awful  mistake  nearly 
everybody  else  does,"  simpers  Seraphia,  blushing.  "  It 
is  the  dear  Count  I  am  going  to  marry." 

So  George  stands  looking  on  as  the  minister  takes 
away  Seraphia  from  him  forever  and  binds  her  to  Ra- 
phael Levison,  ex-pawnbroker,  and  at  present  financier 
and  Count  di  Tesse  Ferrara.  As  he  sees  these  two, 
who  have  persecuted  him  for  the  past  few  weeks,  joined 
together  in  holy  matrimony,  i  grim  smile  comes  over 
Bar-Sinister's  visage.  He  thinks,  "  Egad,  this  is  kill- 
ing two  birds  with  one  stone ! " 

Then  as  the  minister  demands,  "Who  gives  this 
woman  away?*'  "I  do!"  replies  Bar-Sinister,  and 
mentally  chuckles,  "  Freely  !  " 

The  next  minute  Seraphia  Bulger  is  Seraphia  Levi- 
son, Contessa  di  Tesse  Ferrara;  and  George  gives  a 
mighty  sigh  of  relief,  and  murmurs:  "Both  mine  ene- 
mies !  "  while  Maddox,  who  is  looking  on  from  the 
door,  indulges  in  a  sardonic  grin. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"ABELARD — HAVE  A  CHOCOLATE? H 

HALF  an  hour  after,  the  happy  couple  having  been 
driven  away  to  take  train  for  hastily  arranged  honey- 
moon at  Niagara,  George  says  to  himself:  "Free!"  shakes 


238  THE   LADIES'   JUGGERNAUT. 

himself  like  a  big  Newfoundland  dog,  and  dispatches 
a  telegram  to  Narragansett. 

Then  he  has  an  hour  or  two  of  it  with  the  reporters, 
and  tells  them  a  tale  that  makes  them  open  their  eyes 
about  the  wedding  that  has  just  taken  place,  the  nup- 
tials of  the  elder  Miss  Bulger  with  the  Count  di  Tesse 
Ferrara,  an  Italian  nobleman  of  high  lineage,  who  had 
risked  his  life  to  save  hers  at  Narragansett.  He  him- 
self, George  states,  knows  all  the  details  of  the  affair, 
being  the  affianced  of  the  bride's  niece,  Miss  Evelyn 
Bulger,  and  having  come  down  to  wish  his  future  aunt- 
in-law  God  speed  and  good  luck. 

Not  all  of  his  comments  are  swallowed  by  the  gentle- 
men of  the  press  as  easily  as  he  thinks  they  are,  and 
some  of  the  articles  in  the  New  York  papers  the  next 
morning  make  Bar-Sinister  grin  and  some  make  him 
curse. 

But  he  has  got  beyond  thinking  of  reporters  now; 
only  one  thing  is  in  his  mind  as  he,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Maddox,  takes  the  train  to  Narra'gansett  Pier,  and 
early  in  the  evening  at  the  little  railroad  station  finds 
a  pony  phaeton  driven  by  a  beautiful  girl  in  light 
summer  costume,  with  little  Jimmy  sitting  in  the  rumble, 
an  extraordinary  grin  upon  his  face. 

Their  conversation  is  so  low  as  they  drive  to  the  Bul- 
ger villa  that  though  the  tiger  opens  his  ears  with  all  his 
might  he  doesn't  catch  a  word  of  it,  notwithstanding 
George  tells  the  whole  tale  to  Miss  Evelyn,  who  gazes 
at  him  astonished,  and  will  hardly  believe  that  Sera- 
phia  is  now  the  Contessa  di  Tesse  Ferrara. 

At  the  house  this  information  as  to  Seraphia's  title 
is  received  with  absolute  jeers  by  Mirie,  who  laughs: 
'  Is  everyone  a  nobleman  in  Italy  ?  He  isn't  an 
Italian!  Only  ladies  can  buy  titles — we  know,  don't 
we,  Abelard !  "  And  goes  romping  about  like  a  child  with 
the  chocolate- colored  caniche  A  moment  after  she 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  239 

whispers  in  one  of  the  dog's  long  ears:  "Abelard,  what 
lies  Bar-Sinister  is  going  to  tell  old  Mr.  Bulger  in 
a  minute!  " 

For  George  and  Evie  have  gone  in  to  see  the 
young  lady's  father. 

This  gentleman  with  many  exclamations  of  astonish- 
ment and  concern  listens  to  the  story  of  his  sister's 
marriage.  Then  he  says,  sternly:  "And  you  deceived 
me  all  to-day,  making  me  think  my  sister  was  indis- 
posed. Evie,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  Seraphia's 
elopement  last  night  ?  The  thing  might  have  been 
prevented." 

Here  his  daughter  astonishes  him  more,  for  she  mut- 
ters: "It  was  better  that  it  shouldn't  be  prevented. 
George — George,  tell  him  why  it  was  better  that  it 
should  not  be  prevented." 

"Because,"  says  Bar-Sinister,  "Mr.  Bulger,  this 
thing  has  been  a  terrible  mistake.  I  came  over  here 
expecting  to  marry  your  daughter,  but  not  as  'papa's 
birthday  present,'  which  I  understand  your  servant 
girls  dubbed  me.  I  loved  her  well  enough  before.  I 
came  over  here  imagining  it  was  a  partnership  in  your 
business  that  was  offered  me  by  a  young  lady  who 
wanted  to  make  up  for  the  very  cruel  way  she  had 
treated  me  in — in  Florida.  I'll  only  come  in  that  \vny 
now !  I  may  be  a  lord,  but  I'm  a  business  lord.  I've 
won  her  love,  at  least  I  had  won  quite  enough  of  her 
affections  to  make  her  beastly  jealous  in  Florida,  don't 
yer  know.  If  my  title  does  her  any  good,  if  it  makes 
her  any  happier  to  go  in  first  to  dinner  and  be  the 
snubber  instead  of  the  snubbed,  I  am  glad.  But  I 
would  rather  she  would  love  me  as  plain  George 
Cranmere,  of  Pink,  White  &  Co.,  than  as  Lord  Bar- 
Sinister.  I  don't  want  her  money — I  only  want  her 
love!" 

"Aha!  Miss  Webster  gave  you  that  in  St.  Augus- 
tine, George,"  laughs  Evie,  blushing. 


340  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

"Miss  Webster?  Oh,  yes.  I  say,  you're  Miss  Web- 
ster.  That  imp  upstairs  told  me  all  about  it,  don't 
yer  know?  But  I — I  forgive  you." 

"Do  you,  George?  How  generous!"  With  this 
the  girl  is  nearly  in  his  arms,  but  Mr.  Bulger  calls  out 
in  a  horrified  tone  of  voice : 

"  Good  heavens!  Don't  touch  his  hand!  Evie,  remem- 
ber the  bills  Seraphia  paid  for  him.  You  yourself  said 
you  could  marry  no  man  with  such  a  record  of 
debauchery." 

"Yes,"  murmurs  Evelyn,  "but  I  don't  visit  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  on  the  children."  With  this  the  girl 
leads  her  father  away  and  whispers  to  him  the  true 
history  of  this  matter,  while  George  looks  out  of  the 
window,  but  curses  his  father's  crimes  that  are  now 
causing  his  son  to  get  red  about  the  ears. 

A  minute  after  he  sneers:  "Egad,  Mr.  Bulger, 
those  bills  should  frighten  little  Mirie.  See  what  the 
New  York  papers  say  about  her  in  their  English  news." 
And  producing  a  morning  New  York  journal  Bar- 
Sinister  reads  this  curious  announcement  by  cable: 

"  Marriage  in  High  Life.  At  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square, 
on  the  2Oth  inst.,  will  be  celebrated  the  nuptials  of  the  Most 
Honorable  Hugo  Cressy  Agincourt  Cranmere,  Marquis  of  Fitz- 
minster,  and  Mirabelle  Aurelia,  daughter  of  the  late  Jonas 
Armitage,  Esq.,  of  Chicago,  Illinois.  The  bride,  we  are 
informed,  is  to  have  two  million  dollars  dowry,  her  father 
having  been  one  of  the  magnates  of  that  Western  city.  The 
Marquis  bears  one  of  the  oldest  titles  in  England,  and  in  his 
younger  days  was  famous  on  the  British  turf.  He  is  not  as 
young  as  the  coming  Marchioness  of  Fitzminster  by  some 
years." 

"Is  it  true?"  gasps  Evie.      "Mirie,  our  mother!" 
"Yes,  that's  the  reason  she  helped  us.     She  didn't 

want  a  gray-haired  daughter,"  laughs  George.     "You'd 

better  go  up  and  pay  your  respects." 
This  Evie  does,  and  Mirabelle  tells  her  she  is  going 


THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT.  241 

away  the  next  day  and  will  leave  New  York  the  day 
after  for  London,  under  the  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  West- 
ingwell.  "  I  don't  suppose  you'll  be  over  for  the  wed- 
ding. I  presume  I  shall  be  a  little  ahead  of  even 
you  and  Bar-Sinister,"  she  laughs.  "  Nevertheless, 
though  you've  been  as  ungrateful  as  a  girl  can  be  to  her 
mother,  I  shall  welcome  you  as  my  daughter.  Tell 
George  I  expect  him  to  keep  his  promise.  I  have 
stayed  here  for  those  bills.  I  must  see  him  about  them 
now !  Evie,  remember  as  your  coming  mother,  I  take 
precedence  over  you,  child.  Let  ine  go  downstairs 
first.  Room  for  the  future  Marchioness  of  Fitzminster !" 
and,  screaming  with  merriment,  the  coming  grande 
dame  slides  down  the  banisters  to  have  interview  with 
her  future  step-son. 

"George,"  she  says,  "tell  me  all  about  it.  Was 
Seraphia  very  angry  at  me? " 

"I  don't  think  you  would  have  lived  if  she  had  got 
her  hands  on  you." 

"  How  quinine  must  affect  the  nerves,"  laughs  Mirie, 
"and  the  passions.  I  have  been  experimenting.  I 
quininized  Abelard  this  morning.  He  doesn't  like  it, 
and  nearly  bit  me.  But,  George,  I  did  the  trick  for 
you.  Remember  your  promise." 

"What  promise?" 

"  Fitz's  bills.  Just  a  few  of  those  receipted  ones. 
La  Blackbird's  expenses  will  suit  me  a  little  better 
than  any  of  them ;  she  was  the  worst  of  the  lot,  I  am 
told.  Then  if  Fitzminster  is  a  little  jealous  of  his 
young  bride,  as  old  gentlemen  are  sometimes  apt  to 
be,  I  can  read  him  a  lecture  upon  his  youthful  follies. 
Georgie,  present  them  as  a  wedding  gift  to  your  papa's 
bride.  He'll  be  so  happy  when  he  sees  them." 

"By  Jove,  what  a  move  it  will  be  on  the  governor," 
mutters  George.  "You  know  he  always  likes  to  see 
receipted  bills."  With  this  gives  her  her  wish. 


242  THE  LADIES'  JUGGERNAUT. 

Later  in  the  evening — the  house  party  having  fortun- 
ately drifted  off  with  the  Newport  guests,  and  there 
being  no  one  to  embarrass  them — he  3  ad  Evelyn  get  all 
the  palm  trees  out  of  the  conservatory  and  put  them 
on  the  veranda,  and  seat  themselves  cosily  in  them 
and  say:  "This  is  Florida!  " 

"Yes,  by  Jove,  St.  Augustine,"  remarks  Bar-Sinis. 
ter,  "without  Jonas  Ripley,  though." 

"And  lacking  Miss  Webster,"  laughs  Evie.  "  Shall 
we  go  over  the  water, "  and  she  points  across  the  rip- 
pling waves  that  are  coming  in  from  the  Atlantic,  "like 
the  others  ? " 

"Well,  I  hardly  think  so,"  says  Bar-Sinister. 
"You  see  I'm  the  local  agent  of  Pink,  White  &  Co. 
in  America,  and  I've  got  some  money  to  earn,  some 
bills  to  pay.  We're  not  quite  like  the  rest  of  them, 
don't  you  see !  You  haven't  thrown  yourself  to  the 
ladies'  Juggernaut  over  here,  that  idol  of  social  pre- 
cedence, of  foreign  title  that  they  import  to  bow  down 
to  and  worship  and  let  foreign  counts  and  English  lords 
crush  them  under  the  ancient  regime,  and  take  their 
pretty  little  hearts  and  pretty  big  fortunes  out  of  the 
country  that  they  belong  to.  You  see,  over  there," 
he  points  toward  Newport,  "a  wary  French  Count 
or  Hungarian  Baron  wjth  an  eye  on  the  proper  girl, 
in  three  or  four  weeks'  work,  with  good  luck,  can  take 
out  of  the  country  as  much  money  as  five — yes,  per- 
haps ten  thousand  laborers  can  produce  in  a  year. 
That's  a  pretty  heavy  handicap  on  Brother  Jonathan, 
isn't  it?  Now  I'm  going  to  be  a  little  different  from 
most  of  my  kind;  I'm  going  to  let  the  girl  and  the 
money  stay  in  this  country  for  awhile.  You  see,  ours 
is  a  kind  of  a  love  match.  It's  rather  different  from 
the  fadish  international  marriage  that  young  lady 
upstairs  is  going  to  make." 

"Yes,  how  I  pity  her,"  murmurs  Evelyn.  "  How  I 
pity  any  woman  who  cannot  say  to  her  future  husband, 


THE    LADIES      JUGGERNAUT.  24» 

"  [  love  you,  not  for  your  rank,  but  for  what  you  are ! " 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  says  Maddox,  "  but  I  believe  it's 
quinine  time!  " 

At  which  they  both  start  apart,  and  George  says, 
sulkily:  "Maddox,  you're  a  faithful  beast — too  faith- 
ful a  beast.  Up  to  my  marriage,  you'll  omit  interrupt- 
ing me  if  I  die  for  it." 

But  they  have  no  reason  to  pity  Mirie.  Six  months 
after,  people  that  came  from  England  said  that  she 
was  having  the  pleasant  time,  not  her  husband. 

An  acknowledged  leader  of  fashion,  her  arts  and 
graces  and  childish  loveliness  had  captured  London 
society,  especially  the  male  portion  of  it,  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  her  husband,  old  Fitzminster,  was  doing  the 
jealous  act  himself,  and  having  a  very  hard  time  of  it. 

This  may  be  true,  for  one  day  about  this  time,  re- 
turning from  a  garden  party  given  by  the  Countess  of 
Cowes  near  Richmond,  the  young  Marchioness  of 
Fitzminster,  in  the  privacy  of  her  boudoir,  thus 
addresses  Abelard,  the  chocolate-colored  caniche: 
"We're  giving  him  a  lively  deal,  arn't  we,  Abelard  ?  " 
Then  she  brings  her  pretty  white  teeth  together,  and 
mutters:  "The  old  villain!  He  would  reproach  me 
with  Colonel  Malvoisin  of  the  Life  Guards,  would  he  ? 
Yes,  he  would,  were  it  not  for  his  naughty  receipted 
bills.  Abelard,  these  keep  old  Fitzminster  in  march- 
ing order,  don't  they  ?  Some  young  ladies  are  crushed 
by  the  Juggernaut  of  international  marriage,  but  \ve 
ride  on  top  of  the  idol ;  don't  we,  Abelard,  my  boy  ? 
What  are  you  winking  at  me  for,  you  insulting  camp- 
meeting  prig.  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I'm 
rather  overstepping  the  bounds  of  fin  de  sihle  flir- 
tation with  my  dear  handsome  Colonel  ?  Have  a 
chocolate  ?  "  Smack!  "  I  told  you  I'd  slap  you  if  you 
didn't  catch  it!  " 

»Ki,  yi!— Ki,  yi!— Kil  yi!— KIOUCH!" 

FINIS. 


ANOTHER  GREAT  SUCCESS 

Miss  Nobody 

of  Nowhere 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  C.  GUNTER 


"Full    of   incident     and     excitement." — New     York 
Herald. 

"The  popularity  of  Mr.  Gunter  will  now  be  greatei 
than  ever." — Tacoma  Globe. 

*'A  story  that  will  keep  a  man  away  from  his 

meals." — Omaha  Bee. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  volume." 

— Daily  Chronicle^  London,  Jan.  14,  1891. 

"Gunter  scores  another  success." 

— Morning  Advertiser ,  London,  Dec.  16,1890. 

"Well  worth  reading." 

— Galignani,  Paris,  Nov.  24,  1890. 

«*Nothing  could  exceed  its  thrilling  interest." 

— Glasgow  Herald^  Dec.  25,  1890, 

"Guntcr's  latest  remarkable  story  will  not  disappoint 
his  numerous  admirers." 

Chronicle^  Dec.  4,  1890. 


Eightieth  Thousand. 

Her  Senator 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  GLAVFRING  GUNTER, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York/'  etc.,  etc. 


^'  One  of  Mr.  Gunter*s  best  works ;  written  in  his  breezy  style, 
»kd  interesting  throughout." — Argus.  Albany \  N.  Y.t  April  19,  1896. 

41  Will  certainly  meet  with  instant  favor." — Cambridge  Press. 
Afril  j 6,  1896. 

"  As  a  portraiture  of  political  Intrigue  and  social  dissipation  and 
mercenary  plottings,  as  dramatized  in  Newport,  Narragansett, 
Denver,  New  York  and  Washington  City,  by  players  in  high  life 
and  low  life,  the  author  takes  the  palm." — Christian  Leader,  April 
14,  1896. 

•'Will  help  pass  many  summer  moments." — Herald,  Grand  Rapid** 
\April  f 2,  1896. 


Cloth,  $1.50  Paper,  50  Cents 


Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Sijclh  EdMon  note/  ready  of 

3apane0e  prince 


BY  ARCHIBALD  CLAVBRING  GUNTER 

Author  of"  MR.  BARNES  OF  Niw  YORK,*'  etc.  i 

THIS  rushing,  intense,  romance  from  the  fluent  pen  of 
ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER,  deals  with  the  pres- 
ent Japap^se- Russian   war,    scenes     from   which   it 
depicts  with  all  of  this  author's  well  known  accuracy 
and  faithfulness,  to  even  the  most  insignificant  detail.     There  is 
a  charm  and  compelling  power  about  each  of    Mr.  Gunter's 
romances  from  which  the  reader  finds  it  impossible  even  to 
desire  to  escape  when  once  one  of  this  author's  absorbing  stories 
has  been  started.     "My  Japanese  Prince"  is  no  exception  to 
this  truism. 

It  is  divided  into  four  episodes,  the  first  of  which  depicts  the 
peculiar  adventures  of  one  Miss  Hilda  Armstrong  in  Tokio. 
The  scene  shifts  rapidly  to  a  house  party  in  Manchuria  given 
by  the  same  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a  great  contractor  of 
Meriden,  Connecticut,  who  is  erecting  for  the  Russian  Gov- 
ernment bridges  on  their  railroads  in  Manchuria.  From  one 
climax  to  another  the  delighted  reader  is  led  as  the  plot  is  gradu- 
ally unfolded,  until  it  finally  closes  with  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary and  affecting  episodes  ever  found  within  the  covers  of 
fiction. 

Cloth,  $1.5O  Taper.  SO  ds. 

Hurst  and  Company* 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK, 


Mr.  Potter 


of  Texas. 


AMERICAN  EDITION, 


ENGLISH    EDITION, 


"The  description  of  the  Bom- 
bardment of  Alexandria,  in  'Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas,'  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  stirring  picture  painted  by 
the  pen  of  any  writer  in  several 
generations" 


A  Novel  of  Startling  Interest 

in  the  complications  which  have  lately  arisen  in    the 
Far  East  between 

RUSSIA  AND  JAPAN 

"  "Tangled  Flag's" 

By  ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

'  The  hero  of  the  story  is  a  Japanese  officer  educated 
at  West  Point  and  purchasing  artillery  for  h  is  govern- 
ment from  an  American  Connecticut  arms  manufactory. 
His  views  on  Russian  aggression  are  typical  of  the  ideas 
of  his  country. 

No  novel  in  recent  years  has  had  a  larger  sale 

"A  rattling  romance."— New  York  Htrald. 

"Mr.  Gunter  will  retain  his  public  as  long  as  he  turns  out  such  bodfra  M 
'Tangled  Flags.*  " — New  York  Ma",  and  Ex f  rest. 

"  'Tangled  Flags'  is  a  book  well  worthy  to  begin  the  literature  or"  the  new 
century.  Osuti  Katsuma  stands  forth  as  strongly  as  any  of  Dumas's  heroes." 
—  The  Literary  News. 

"While  the  flags  of  the  nations  are  becoming  entangled  in  Peking,  it  is 
small  wonder  that  these  people,  so  diverse  in  character  and  training  and  purpose, 
shcuid  entangle  their  fortunes  and  affairs.  But  few  living  novelists  have  the 
g enins  and  the  personal  acquaintance  with  the  scenes  and  events  ihat  will  help 
to  weave  them  into  such  a  satisfactory  romance  as  'Tangled  Flags.'  **->-> 
Bookteller,  Nnuidtaler  and  Stationer. 


Cloth.  £1.5O  Taper.  SO  Cent* 

At  all  Bookseller t  or  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  prict  by 

Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK, 


BOB  COVINGTON 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

Archibald  Clavering  Gunter 

"Of  intense  interest." — St.  Louts  Star. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  line  between  the  covers." 

— St.  Louis  Post-Despatch. 

4 

I'  Better  thanlrMnlBarnes :  of 
New"  York.' " 

f — London  Times. 
Cloth,  $1.50 


. 

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price  by) 

V^ 

Hurst  &  Company 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


FIFTH  EDITION 


SUSAN  TURNBULL 

FOURTH  EDITION 

BALLYHO    BEY 

(THE  SEQUEL  TO  SUSAN  TURNBULL) 
BY 

Archibald4  Clavering  Gunter 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  etc. 


In  presenting  these  two  novels,  we  feel  assured  that  no 
•tories  of  greater  interest  have  ever  been  offered  to  those  who 
read,  not  only  fora  strong  story  of  the  passions  told  with  vigor, 
virility,  and  tenderness,  but  also  for  the  charming  episodes  of 
manners  and  men  of  a  most  curious  age.  The  canvas  on  which 
Mr.  Gunter  paints  his  vivid  pen  pictures  is  too  large  to  permit 
of  any  synopsis  that  would  do  justice  to  these  books.  They 
contain,  however,  besides  a  remarkable  love  story,  many 
thrilling  episodes  dealing  with  the  first  uprising  in  Greece, 
against  the  Turks,  in  1770  ;  a  most  charming  picture  of  Havana 
when  Spain  received  it  from  England  ;  a  view  of  Colonial  life 
in  Florida  and  the  West  Indies  in  their  glory.  All  these  are 
interspersed  by  realistic  descriptions  of  London  modes,  fashions, 
and  frivolities,  at  the  time  when  the  lovely  Miss  Gunnings  were 
the  talk  of  that  great  city,  when  Walpole  Selwyn  and  Sheridan 
were  the  wits  and  the  elder  Pitt  and  Robert,  Lord  Clive,  the 
great  stars  in  its  political  firmament. 


Price  per  volume 

CLOTH,  GILT  TOP,  $1.50  PAPER,  50  CENTS 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Ninety    Thousand  Already    Sold   of 


The  Surprises 


Empty  Hotel 


BY  ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

THIS  most  unique  story  contains  the  interest 
of  an  almost  unsolvable  situation,  is 
brilliantly  adorned  with  wit  and  humor  and  in 
addition  has,  like  all  of  Mr.  Gunter's  books,  a 
peculiar  and  absorbing  personal  interest  in  both 
its  characters  and  events. 

It  is  divided  into  five  episodes: 
THE  EMPTY  HOSTELRY 
A  STRANGE  LADY 

A  FRENCH  LAWYER 

THE  SURRENDER  OF  A  WOMAN 
AN  ELOPEMENT  IN  A  LOCOMOBILE 

And  is  elaborately  illustrated  by  a  number  of 
double  page  pictures  by  Archie  Gunn  and  W.  B. 
Davidson. 

Cloth,  1.50  Paper,  .50  Cento 

At  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by 

Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK, 


Cfje 

2Beacon'sg>econb  Wirib 

BY 

Archibald    Clavering   Gunter 

if  divided  AS  follows 

BOOK  I 

A  NEW  ENGLAND  HOTEL  MAN 
Ckapttr       I   The  Drummer  of  the  Village  Band 
««          //    Mrs.  Russell's  Dinner  Party 
**        III    The  Deacon's  Letter  smells  of  Vice 
'*        IP    A  Brand  snatched  from  the  Burning 
«          r    Venus  at  the  Washtub 

BOOK  II 

THE  PASSIONS  OF  A  HERMIT 
Ckapttr     VI    Miss  Broxton  decides  she  is  not  in  Love 
"       VII    Society  drives  into  the  Deacon's  Back  Yard 
«     VU1    The  Marble-headed  Man 
«        IX    Brother  Ver  Planck 
"         X   ANewAbelard 

BOOK  III 

THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  RUTHY  ABBOTT 
Ckapttr    XI    Elder  Ver  Planck's  Washing  Powder 
«       XII    "  Tell  me  who  Ruth  Abbott  is ! " 
"     XIII    "Give  the  Deacon  his  Second  Wind" 
"     XIV    "  Down  on  your  Knees,  Squire  Perkins!'  - 
"       XV   A  Prejudice  cruel  as  Death 

BOOK  IV 

THE  DEACON'S  SECOND  WIND 

Copter  xri  "  Sic  him,  Rover  I " 

"    Xril  "Was  that  Dad?" 

"  XVIII  Tpmpkins's  Photographic  Gallery 

"     XIX  Tight  Boots  have  made  ye  cranky,  Deacon 

«       XX  Voices  from  Box  B 

"     XXI  The  Surprises  of  a  Night 

Cloth,  ^1.50  Paper,  50  cent! 

At  all  Boot  Hers,  or  teat  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Hurst  and  Company, 

PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


tf^hat  some  of  America  s 
ablest   Critics  say  of 

JACK  CURZON 

2r 
ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

r 

"We  find  a  «ory  of  great  vivacity  in  A.  C.  Gunter's  'Jack  Curzon.' " — V.  Y.  Sun. 

"Is  full  of  duh  and  abound*  with  dramatic  incident." — Kiw  Havin  Morning 
Knot. 

"The  book  has  lots  of  humor  in  it,  is  intensely  interesting,  and  will  certainly 
meet  with  universal  favor." — Dally  Journal,  Phillipsburg,  Pa, 

"Gunter  Is  certainly  the  novelist  of  the  day,  who  comes  nearest  to  Alexander 
Dumas,  and  to  our  taste  he  surpasses  the  Frenchman.  If  you  doubt  this,  throw  aside 
your  encyclopedia  and  history,  and  study  the  Filipino  question,  with  Jack  Curzon  as 
your  guide  and  entertainer." — Thi  Ptesi-Kniclerkocktr,  Albany,  N.  Y. 

"Jack  Curzon  will  be  received  with  pleasure  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Gunter  has  all  the  faculties  of  a  successful  novelist.  He  is  a  graceful,  forceful,  pun- 
gent writer  as  occasion  requires.  He  is  a  shrewd  analyzer  of  character,  and  an  excellent 
weaver  of  plots  in  which  there  is  a  warp  and  woof  of  amusing  and  thrilling  incident." 
^-Oakland  Tribune. 

"Romance  lurks  in  every  corner  of  the  story,  and  is  guided  with  the  special  skill 
for  which  Mr.  Gunter  has  already  acquired  a  reputation.  The  tropical  nature  of  the 
surroundings  of  Manila  are  painted  with  spirited  color,  and  the  author's  knowledge  of 
prevailing  Spat_~.k  conditions  is  strongly  handled.  The  story  is  throughout  one  of  ver- 
satile incident,  so  glowingly  touched  with  reality  that  the  clinching  argument  of  the 
scenes  so  nearly  simultaneously  with  the  American  victory  at  Manila  bring  "Jack  Cur- 
zon1' forward  as  one  of  the  most  absorbing  novels  of  the  season  .  .  .  Mr.  Guntei 
could  not  well  have  written  a  novel  that  would  win  more  unanimous  interest.  It  if 
equipped  with  every  possible  factor  to  hold  human  attention,  and  is  moreover  pene- 
trated by  peculiar  mental  virility  and  color." — Boston  Ideas. 

Cloth,  $1.50  Paper,  50  Cents 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price 

Hurst  and   Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Sir  Guy  Chester 


OR 


The  First  of  the  English 


A  NOVEL 


Showing  how,  years  ago,  England  handled  the  question 
of  Spanish  barbarity  in  a  neighboring  province,  similar 
to  the  Cuban  one  that  the  United  States  has  solved 
to-day. 

BY 

Archibald  Clavering  Gunter 

AUTHOR  OF 
MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK,  ETC.  ETC. 


*'  One  of  his  cleverest  stories."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle  \March  3,189$. 

"A    vivid   and   dashing   sort   of   historical  romance."  —  San 
Francisco  Chronicle,  March  if,  iSq^. 

"  Always  true  to  his  historical  atmosphere."  —  Syracuse  Post, 
March  //, 


•'  As  interesting  as  hit  former  works."—  The  Argust  Albanyl 
N.   Y. 

"  The  story  shows  evidence  of  careful  research  and  historic 
Accuracy."  —  Newark  Daily  Advertiser. 


Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


DON  BALASCO 
OF  KEY  WEST 

BY 

ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 

AUTHOR    OF 

•MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK";   "A  PRINCESS  CF  PARIS"; 
•'  THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


The  first  thing  we  have  to  say  after  reading  this  marvelous  story  of  ad- 
venture,  intrigue,  deception,  Spanish  brutality,  Cuban  patriotism,  love  and 
fidelity,  sacrifice  and  heroism,  and  the  inexcusably  cold  indifference  of  the 
United  States  Government:  that  cold  and  criminally  apathetic  must  be  th 
heart  of  the  man  who  does  not  at  once  become  an  ardent  sympathizer  and  a 

beneficent  actor  with  the  Cubans  struggling  for  life  and  liberty 

.  .  The  description  of  the  West  Indies  by  the  gifted  author — of  the  seas  and 
islands, and  of  the  people— American,  Spanish,  and  Cuban— and  of  the  climate 
and  of  the  manners,  and  customs,  and  temperaments  of  a  volatile  people,  is  a 
piece  of  word  painting  truly  sublime  and  fascinating. 

—Christian  Ltader,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


Plenty  of  the  romance,  excitement,  and  surprise  for  which  Mr.  Gunter's 
novels  are  noted.—  Beston  Journal. 


Have  you  read  Mr.  Archibald  Clavering  Gunter's  latest  story  ?  If  not, 
~rt  a  copy  at  once  at  the  nearest  news-stand.  Before  you  begin  it,  however, 
2?.t  a  good  square  meal,  for  you  will  not  eat  again  until  you  have  finished  the 
<*ouk.  That  is  true  of  all  his  stories.—  The  Rochtster  Courier. 


Cloth,  $1.50  Paper,  50  Cents 

Sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price. 


Hurst  and  Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


A     000125678     3 


